


Deadheading the Roses

by WriterChick



Series: The Baelishes [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Babies, Banter, Blood and Injury, Breaking and Entering, Closure, Dark Sansa, Death, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Violence, Dominance, Drugs, F/M, Fluff and Smut, I suck at tags, Infant Death, It's all a surprise!, Just fuck it, Knives, Major character death - Freeform, Marriage, Miscarriage, Mob Boss Littlefinger, Nesting, Obsession, Organized Crime, Pregnancy, Prostitution, Public Sex, Roleplay, Sex Tapes, Sexting, Shooting Guns, Stalking, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Surveillance, Theft, They give too much away, Triggers, Violence, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-22 21:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 41
Words: 277,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8301109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterChick/pseuds/WriterChick
Summary: This is part 4 of The Baelishes.Alternate Universe set in Modern times where Petyr Baelish and Sansa Baelish are married and run half of the city's organized crime.  This part follows them as they take down another major part of the city, while having their first child.  It also takes place two years after the end of Part 3.





	1. Hookers and Blow

**Author's Note:**

> Check out [Wolfswood Tavern](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8312626/chapters/19035739) I explored the Arya/Bronn ship that crept into my brain from the end of The Merger. It takes place in between Part 3 and 4 of The Baelishes and is told from Arya's POV. Sansa and the "Red Wedding" is of course mentioned through Arya's pov. It's totally a side project for funzies, check it out if it interests :-)

 

The hooker he hired strongly resembled his wife, barring the dark chocolate brown hair that hung over the tops of her breasts.  Baelish wondered if he had drunk enough to not notice the fine similarities and differences between the two women.  He didn’t want to be aware.

She started to speak, “My name--”

He held his hand up to stop her.  “I don’t want to know.  The money is on the table by the TV.  It’s yours when we’re done.”  He knew he should ask her to present her papers--the ones that proclaimed a clean bill of health, but at this point he didn’t care.  He took a swig of his drink knowing he’d stopped caring a while ago.    

From this distance, he couldn’t see her eye color but he wondered if that was something she would share with Sansa or not.   _Stop it._  He told himself.  He didn’t want the details.  This was supposed to just be about getting off.  The woman walked over to the table, picked up and counted the money.  She popped her gum and he took a swig of his scotch as he watched her lips move.  She put the money in her purse and then looked at him, carefully placing her purse on the dresser before stepping away from it, her heels clicking on the marble floor of the penthouse suite.  

“Take your clothes off.”  Petyr instructed, watching her, to see if she would hesitate.  

She didn’t, immediately pulling her top off over her head to expose her breasts.  Petyr noticed that she hadn’t bothered with a bra and that boldness _or_ carelessness excited him.  He felt his cock stir in arousal and wasn’t completely sure if it was because of the naked tits in front of him or if it was that she did what she was told so readily.    

He shifted a little as she unzipped the fake leather skirt and pushed it down over her hips exposing the tiny red triangle of her panties.  He felt his mouth water looking at the little red patch that covered her sex.  His voice deepened as he dominated, “Come here.”  

She walked towards him slowly on her black high heels, the muscles in her calves flexing and her tits jiggling with each step.   She came to a stop in front of his knees, the little red triangle hovering right in front of him.  He noticed it was covered in little cherries and had a rhinestone dangling from the center under a bow.  He smiled inside thinking about how the tiny bow complimented the present he bought himself and said, “Turn around.”

He watched as her thighs turned in front of him and the two luscious milky white globes of her ass came into view.  His cock grew rapidly, straining against his zipper as he traced the red line of her g-string until he couldn’t see it anymore between her cheeks.  He licked his lips as he pushed his legs together and told her back up until her calves touched the chair on either side of his knees, naturally spreading her legs over him.  

As she did, he could feel warmth radiate from between her legs down to his lap and another tingle shivered through him.  He downed the rest of his drink, setting it on the table beside him and reached up to her.  His hands wrapped around the waistband of her g-string and slowly slid it down over the curve of her ass, stopping midway down her thigh.  He looked between her legs at the little red triangle that had come down as well and grinned when he saw a damp spot.  Petyr had always enjoyed it when women wanted him, but hookers were different.  Sex was so common to them, that they became unmoved, unarousable.  If a whore actually wanted to fuck him--well, he took that as a huge compliment.  

Petyr let the material sit where it was, unable to pull it down any further with her legs spread over him.  He slid his palms up the back of her thighs as he instructed, “Bend over and hold your ankles for me.”  

She slowly bent down, her arms lowered and her hands gripped her ankles just above her shoes.  Petyr was face to face with her slippery opening, his hands slid up to massage her ass, letting his thumbs rub closer and closer to her pink pussy.  He felt his balls tighten as he rubbed his thumbs, starting to graze over it, trailing wetness over her cheeks.  He felt his fingers itch to let go and slide into her, finish what his thumbs were starting.  But he wouldn’t let them.  He wondered if she wanted him to.  

If she did, she gave no indication.  She held her place, doing what she was told, like the good little escort she was.  Petyr decided he wanted to hear her respond to him.  Would it be loud and fake like most call girls?  Or would it be low and subdued, almost resentful that he got a response out of her at all?  He licked his lips and leaned forward, inhaling her scent.  

He felt his cock twitch at the delicious pussy smell right in his grasp.  He had never minded the smell of a woman, but he was also never as turned on by it either.  Until Sansa.  Something about the way she smelled, alarmed all his senses, priming him to pounce and fuck her until they both died a little.   _Stop it,_ he told himself.  He wasn’t supposed to think about her.  Not now, not with this girl bent over for him, giving him such a close up.  

He couldn’t help it though, her scent made him think of Sansa.  He started to wonder if she would taste similar too.  He had always heard that taste and smell were closely linked.  He inched forward, his mouth watering at the possibility of experiencing that familiar taste.  He ran his tongue slowly over her opening, circling it, and felt goosebumps form under his fingertips at the top of her thighs.  She tasted so much like Sansa that Petyr moaned at the memory of the many times he buried his face between his wife’s legs.  Forgetting for a moment that she wasn’t her, he slid his tongue inside her and listened to a shaky exhale from down by her ankles.  He smiled triumphantly at how he affected her, as he greedily lapped up her taste.

Petyr let go of one cheek and ran his finger below his chin to run back and forth over her sensitive bundle of nerves, as he flicked his tongue inside her.  He felt her drip down his goatee and he pulled out of her, craning his neck as he lowered his face, trying to catch her clit with his tongue.  He knew he had when he heard her moan and felt her legs tremble.  He captured one of her lips in his mouth and sucked it, then moved to the other, doing the same thing before taking one last swipe over her clit.  He pulled away, looking at her completely exposed, glistening and bright pink, reflexively clenching, begging for his dick.  

He gently blew on her, the cold air against the wetness sent a shiver through her, and goosebumps covered her ass.  Petyr suddenly realized that she had been upside down for little bit said, “You can stand up and turn around now.”  

She did slowly, her face flushed.  He smiled thinking how he must look, her juices drenching his face, as he said, “You’re delicious.”

She smiled at that and said, “Thank you.”  

“Let’s start with a blow job, shall we?”  Petyr’s erection had become highly uncomfortable trapped in his pants.  He looked at the red material still stretched around her thighs and said, “You can take those off.”  Looking down at her ruby red polished toes in her black strappy heels, he added, “Keep those on.”  

She scooted her underwear off and before she crouched down before him, he noticed that she was shaved bare.  He liked a naked pussy for licking, but ultimately he was a fan of some hair accenting the area.  He thought about the modest line his wife always wore and he missed the fiery red trail that only he was allowed to see.  He gave himself a mental shake, remembering not to think about what he couldn’t have.  

She worked his pants open and his dick sprung out eagerly.  She licked her lips as she looked down at him and he knew that all hookers did that, but he liked to pretend it was because of how much she wanted to suck _his_ cock.  He remembered the dampness in her panties and the way she trembled and moaned from his tongue and thought maybe she actually did want to take him in her mouth.  

He leaned over quickly to the table next to him and used his credit card to gather the white powder into lines.  She looked up, seemly just then noticing the blow.  He snorted a quick line and then licked his finger, dipping it into all the loose powder not neatly corralled into a line.  He brought his hand down to her and slid his finger into her mouth, swiping it over the inside of her bottom lip and her gums.  She smiled and wrapped her lips around his finger, sucking it suggestively.  

Petyr withdrew his finger and gripped the back of her neck, tugging it towards his dick.  She lowered her head and covered his cock.  He felt a wave of pleasure at the sensation of being fully encased by her hot wet mouth.  It usually took about three minutes for the coke to affect him, however this stuff was definitely pure and he was already feeling it.  

Waves of pleasure grew as he watched the brown mop bob up and down on him.  Not meaning to, he found himself lifting off his seat a little, grinding up into her mouth.  When he realized what he was doing, he slowed himself down, not wanting to hurt the girl.  She probably had enough rough nights, and he wasn’t going to be the one who broke the hooker.  

He vaguely felt something rubbing against his leg and opened his eyes, looking over her back.  Petyr watched her arm move vigorously and he realized what she was doing to herself.  “Are you touching yourself?”  He asked.  

She nodded, mouth full of cock, still touching and sucking.  He smiled devilishly and told her, “Give me your hand.”  

She kept her mouth on his cock, massaging the underbelly of it in long careful strokes as she raised her hand.  He moaned in pleasure under her mouth as he looked at her hand hovering above his stomach, her first two fingers glistening with her wetness.  He leaned forward and captured her fingers in his mouth, sucking and licking, mimicking her movements on his cock.  He listened to her muffled sounds of pleasure around his cock, and felt her other arm rub against his leg the same way the first had.  

He chuckled, releasing her fingers.  “Yeah, coke will do that to you.  Makes you _need_ to come.”  

She moaned deeply and he shuddered at the way the vibration felt around his shaft, his tip hitting the back of her throat.  He breathed heavy, “But an _experienced_ girl like you knows that.”  

She nodded and moaned as she worked him and herself.  He groaned, “Enough.  Get up.”  

His present stood before him, taking the small mirror tile he handed her as he spoke, “Do a line.”  

She held one nostril shut with her index finger as she gripped the straw with her thumb and middle finger.  He heard her snort it as he pulled his shirt off, exposing a long scar running down his chest.  It was well healed and lighter in color now, though prominent all the same.  He would have felt self conscious about it, but whores never cared what a man looked like.  Sansa on the other hand, was always drawn to it, kissing it and running her fingers over it, sometimes cooing that he was her “poor baby.”  

He closed his eyes, trying to shake the thought.  He tapped his lap and said, “Hop on.”  She straddled him, setting her knees to either side of him in the seat.  She looked down at the scar like she wanted to touch it, but didn’t.  He didn’t care, she could be curious all she wanted.  He guided his cock to her entrance and then yanked her down on him, holding her there for a moment, as he enjoyed the feel of her.  For the first time he caught her eye, they were a striking bright blue.  Unable to stop himself, he asked, “What is your name?”  

Her voice silky smooth as she responded, “Alayne.”  

“Mm, very pretty.”  He actually thought it was quite plain.  He guided her up and down on him as he considered the first time he had heard the name _Sansa,_ feeling it was soft and sharp all at once, exotic.  

She rode him, tits bouncing as she offered various sounds of pleasure and he stared at the brown locks that slapped against her chest.  The color seemed so dull, the complete opposite of the vibrant red of his wife.

His hands moved on their own as they reached up to her hair, gripping the back of her head.  He fisted a clump of hair and pulled, to his surprise the whole wig came off.  She screamed, “Petyr!  What the fuck?!”  

The wig dangled from his fist as her long red hair unraveled and poured down over her shoulders.  Her sapphire eyes scowled at him and suddenly the blank canvas was gone and the fine intimate details of his wife were before him.  He tossed the mop to the side as his hands flew to her, sliding up her ribs, grabbing handfuls of her breasts.  He felt a renewed vigor as he pumped up into her.  

She moaned reflexively and then scolded him as she did so.  It was clear that she did not want to feel as much pleasure as she was.  He snickered, she could thank the coke for that.  He was very thankful that her enhanced primal need to come kept her glued to his cock despite her frustration.  She huffed, “The theme was hookers and blow!”

“I know, I know.”  He apologized as he kept bucking up into her, his own need to plunder her taking over.  “I just needed _you._ ”  

She crossed her arms as she bounced up and down on him, pouting.  “I thought you liked roleplays every now and then.”  

“I do, yeah.  I do.”  He nodded licking his lips, needing more of her.  He realized she wouldn’t engage until he explained.  “It’s fun foreplay.  But I only want to be inside _you_.  Even if it’s just pretend.  I just want to fuck my wife.  Please.”  

She kept bouncing up and down with the motion of him pumping into her as he spoke.  She listened and slowly started to smile, showing her gorgeous dimples.  “Are you begging me?”  She asked.  

He knew he was in, she was going to give him what he wanted.  He just needed to keep playing her game, “Yes, please.  Come on, please.  I _need you,_ Sansa.”  

She dropped her arms and rubbed her hands on his abs, reaching up to rest her palms on his pecs.  She breathed, “Will you still fuck me like a whore?”  

“ _Yes!_ ”  Petyr roared, his teeth clenched and the muscles in his arms flexed as he grabbed her ass hard and slammed her down on his cock.  

She yelped in pleasure and surprise, a toothy grin spread across her face and she dug her fingernails into his chest.  He was pleasantly surprised himself to feel her riding him fast and hard in perfect rhythm with his own efforts.  

He watched her face scrunch in concentration and he knew that the rhythm they had going was building up her own orgasm as her nub smacked and rubbed against his pelvis.  He gripped her cheeks harder and leaned his head forward, trying to catch one of her tits in his mouth.  

Suddenly, something in her took over because she shifted drastically.  She grabbed his head, pulling it hard against her breast.  Sansa arched back, taking him with her, lifting his back off the chair.  Petyr wrapped his arms around her, to keep her from falling backwards as he nuzzled his face into her chest, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth and sucking on it as he let his fingers knead into her back.  

She moaned his name as he lifted her out of the chair, still sliding in and out of her slightly as he carried her to the bed, falling onto it with her.  He pulled up one of her legs, clutching it to his chest as he thrust into her rapidly.  

“Fuck, Petyr.”  She whimpered.  

He grinned down at her coming undone under him.  “Grab the pillow.”  

She was slow to understand and comply, but did.  He took it from her and placed it under her ass as he kept rutting into her.  Petyr grabbed her by both thighs now, pulling her back against him as he bucked furiously into her like a wild animal.  

She cried out as he pounded her pussy as hard as he had ever before.  He glanced quickly to her face to see if she was okay and realized immediately that she was euphoric.  He wanted to be where she was, share it with her.  He held her thighs tightly not only for leverage but also for comfort as he teetered on his own edge, praying to fall.  He inhaled sharply as he did, spasming as he soaked her insides.  

Petyr collapsed into her open arms and legs, burying his face in her neck, breathing heavy.  He could hear her smile as she stroked the back of his head, “Is my _husband_ all worn out?”  

He gently bit her neck and she giggled as he rolled off of her.  He lay there, naked and spent, with Sansa at his side.  Clearly disliking the the absence of him on top of her, she rolled over and snuggled into his chest.  She feathered him with little kisses and smiled as she said, “I guess it’s a good thing that my husband only wants to fuck _me_.”  

“Most women would like that.”  He laughed.  

She sighed, “Because you sucked in the sack when we were pretending.”  

“Really?!”  He picked his head up in surprise.  

“Not before!”  She picked her face up to meet his, clarifying.  “After, when I was riding you--I could tell you weren’t into it.  You barely touched me.  I didn’t know what was wrong, and then you took the wig off...”  

He dropped his head, “I love how fun you are, it makes me just want _you_ all the more.”  

She lowered her face, kissing his scar.  “I thought the theme would be fun, but I underestimated just how _addicted_ to me you are.”  She laughed with a mocking tone.  

He rolled his eyes and laughed as he admitted, “It’s true.”  

She laughed teasing him, “At least I know if you ever cheat on me, you’ll be miserable and you’ll be such a terrible lay that no girl will let you touch her twice.”   

“Ha-ha.”  Petyr pulled her up into a kiss.  He threaded his fingers through her bright red hair as he pulled his face away from hers and looked into the shimmering blue pools of her eyes, “Thank you.   For allowing me to possess you, for being mine.  These have easily been the best two years of my life.”  

She smiled bashfully, “Don’t say that.”   

“Oh? And why not?”  Petyr grinned.  

She ran her hand up his chest, rubbing his scar with her thumb as she looked at him, “Because we have so many more ahead of us.  It’s too early to pick your favorite two.”  

He chuckled and then kissed her again, “Happy Anniversary.”  

She rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes as she said, “Happy Anniversary.”


	2. Domestic Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr had decided long ago that he would not father any children.

Petyr often thought that people didn’t appreciate the simple things in life, like loving someone and having it returned.  To know that any gesture would be welcomed and reciprocated meant never having to fear the possibility of rejection.  Petyr appreciated never worrying that he may cross a line or go too far, because his beloved was steadfast by his side, never moving.  

Growing up in foster home after foster home, Petyr dealt with constant rejection.  He learned very quickly what to admit to and what to craft a story for.  Being able to share complete honesty with someone else was something he never imagined.  Though, he had found that anything was possible with Sansa.  He could snatch her away from whatever she was doing, hugging her to him and she would just squeeze back harder.  He would wrap his arms around her and she would press her body to him, rubbing her face against his as she purred into the embrace.

Petyr looked over to her sitting in her seat beside him on the airplane.  Sansa looked out the window, watching the clouds as they flew home.  He reached over, picking up her hand to kiss the back as he thread his fingers through hers.  She didn’t look at him, still focused out the window as she squeezed his hand in response.  He noticed her cheek move and realized she was smiling at his affection.  Feeling joy at her acceptance, he leaned over and kissed her shoulder.  She let go of his hand and reached up, catching the side of his face, allowing her palm to rest on his cheek and her fingers to rub in his hair line.  

He knew he could continue with this, offering a gesture and her meeting it with another, continually.  They truly knew no end to their displays of affection and he couldn’t be happier.  Though, there were times that he wondered if she could.  

Sansa always appeared content, and had given him no reason to suspect that she wasn’t.  However, he couldn’t deny noticing her warmth towards the child that stood in line behind them at the airport gift shop.  They were picking up some antacid for Petyr’s heartburn in between flights while a mother and her son stood behind them.  The boy, antsy as children are known to be, was fidgeting and squirming.  His mother was mortified when he bumped into Sansa.  Petyr would be lying if he said that he wasn’t a little annoyed that someone had knocked into his wife, though calmed when he recognized it was a child.  Sansa on the other hand had turned fully and crouched to meet the child directly.  Her smile was warm and inviting as she looked at him.  “Whoops, looks like you tripped on your feet a little.  It’s really hard to wait in this boring line, isn’t it?”  

The boy nodded his head, eyes wide, staring back at her.  He looked how Petyr felt most of the time with her on his arm.  Sansa did that to people, with her fiery red mane, ice blue eyes, and dimples that made you want to drown in her smile.  Petyr did not blame the little boy for being speechless in the face of such god-like beauty.  Sansa reached into her purse and pulled out a keyring with what looked like pieces of a bike chain attached to it.  She handed it to him and said, “Here, when it starts getting really hard to wait, just move this little piece here,”  She pointed to the bend in a part of the chain.  “In and out of the keyring.  See if you can spin it around.  It makes the waiting so much shorter.”

The mother looked shy as she smiled and shook her head, “Thank you, but you don’t have to give us anything.  He won’t do it again.”  

Sansa stood to her full height as she faced the mother, “It’s no trouble at all.  One of my brother’s has ADHD and that little thing was the only way we got through doctor’s appointments.  He’s all grown up now and doesn’t need it anymore.  I’m glad I still had it kicking around.”

After the mother thanked her again, Sansa turned back around and Petyr linked his arm in hers as he looked her over.  She stared ahead with an absent smile pasted on her face, not noticing him examine her.  He wondered what she was thinking about, though had an idea that it had to do with the child behind them, or perhaps her brothers when they were younger.  Petyr had always seen the love she radiated for her younger siblings, whether or not they were being well behaved or disappointing.  

They were all growing up on her though:  Arya would be turning twenty-one this weekend--something Petyr was not looking forward to, as Sansa and her would be going out, “just the girls.”  Brandon was now eighteen, out of school, and officially an adult even though he was anything but.  And young Rickon was fourteen now and starting college--he was a bonafide genius with a full scholarship in the works over two years prior.

None of them were hers, all inherited from her parents.  Their death was a casualty of the life they chose to live, a life not too different from the one Petyr and Sansa were living.  Petyr had decided long ago that he would not father any children.  For a man in his line of work, children would just be something to leverage against him, if not by a shitty trophy wife, then by an enemy.  He knew that he had made this decision years ago but wondered about Sansa.  The subject surprisingly, had never come up.  Their romance was as they say, “whirlwind.”  They were apart, then together and back again and again.  Each time rejoining over a dead body, or few.    

When he met Sansa, she was with The Hound, her future planning consisted purely of how she would kill him and regain her family position in the city.  Once that was accomplished, their relationship together was so new and insecure, suffering the rigors of what most new relationships went through, amplified by the passion and darkness in them both.  When they rejoined, it was the world that they lived in that ripped them apart on their wedding day.  It was for a mere four hours before Sansa and her people charged in taking him back.  And then there were the weeks--no, months of recovery that Petyr underwent after surviving attempted evisceration.  He was sure that in all the time she spent at his side, cooing over him and nursing him back to health, she had not thought once about her stance on children.  

He wondered if she thought about it now, staring at the clouds that passed by.  The night before they had celebrated two years together, and while Petyr would admit the first few months were not how he would have expected newlyweds to live as he recovered, he felt as though their time together had been exciting and satiating.  Not to mention, busy with _business._

Petyr and Sansa ran half of the city, the remaining half divided by two families:  the Lannisters and the Tyrells.  The Lannisters were Jamie and his wife Cersei.  Together they had three children, their oldest was of age to be put to work, while the other two still young enough to be shielded from it, as far as Petyr’s informants were aware.  Their family was old blood, managing a quarter of the city for generations, a powerful ally to have.  The Tyrells consisted of Loras and his husband Renly.  And of course, both families had a sibling that worked for them.  The Lannister’s had Jaime’s _little_ brother Tyrion -- younger in age but also small in stature.  The Tyrell’s had Margaery, Loras’ sister who according to Loras had been gone for the past few years working in the Peace Corps.  

Anyone who lived in their world would call bullshit on that flimsy excuse.  However, the Tyrells were younger than the Lannisters, being more Sansa’s age, while the Lannisters were a little older than Petyr.  It was not entirely outlandish that someone younger might take a vacation from the family business to “find themselves.”  Different generations acted differently, which was part of what drew Petyr to Sansa so decidedly.  On the one hand, she was sexy and ruthless, handcuffing him to a bed and killing people with their marriage pistols.  On the other hand, she had a softness to her that Petyr wanted to curl into and soak in as she nurtured him on every level.  Her dimensions were so different from the cold black and white of his generation, of the way he had needed to make himself to rise to the position he had.  

It was those different dimensions that allowed her to pretend to love The Hound, to be someone she wasn’t.  And it was also what allowed her to help him build relations with both the Lannisters and Tyrells.  He knew, and she understood quickly, that by running half of the city, the Baelishes had become viewed as a powerful force.  People often acted against supposed threats.  With Petyr recovering, and business taking a hit with Daario Nahaaris’ betrayal as well as Kahl Drogo’s.  They were in less of a position to manage a revolt, especially if both families had joined forces.  

Luckily, before their wedding day, Petyr and Sansa had helped the Lannisters obtain some product to sell when they were short.  And even luckier still, the Tyrells had decided to make a move--however small, against the Lannisters, prior to Petyr and Sansa’s help.  All of the families had a healthy rivalry, though that move to steal customers deepened it between the Lannisters and Tyrells.  

While Sansa regretted that they had blown up the Lannister shipment, as it caused Daario to kidnap Petyr, she learned quickly that her advisement to “teach him a lesson” was what had kept them afloat.  If they had never burned the Lannister shipment, the Tyrells would not have moved on them.  They may have maintained relations and been more willing to join against the growing Baelishes.  While her advice to hurt Daario hurt them as well, it also set a much needed wedge between the Tyrells and the Lannisters, and Petyr helped her to see that through the guilt that plagued her.  

The first days after their wedding, Petyr was in and out of consciousness.  He always woke to Sansa by his side, her worried expression hovering above.  She would talk endlessly to him, as she held his hand and traced her fingers over his forehead.  One day however, he woke and she was not in view.  He silently picked his head up to find her perched in the window seat, staring out at the rain as it drizzled down the window.  At first he thought that the window was reflecting on her face and then he realized she was crying.  

He called to her and was thankful that she didn’t try to hide her tears when she turned to him.  Finally awake and healed enough to listen, he did, completely.  She showed him the pearly handles of the pistols named Mr. Baelish and Mrs. Baelish, and he raised his hand to feel the engraving, silently approving both of the gift and of her sister, Arya for giving it.  She explained how she shot both Daario and Drogo in the head with Mr. Baelish and in the heart with Mrs. Baelish.  He found that particularly fitting, as Petyr prided himself in his ability to fuck a person’s mind and knew how easily Sansa could tear a man’s heart open.  

Being kidnapped from his own wedding and then spending days out of the public eye recovering, Petyr was well aware of how much risk this put their little empire.  They could not be viewed as weak as he was confined to a bed.  He felt pride bloom in his chest as he thought of how excellently his wife managed the situation, using all the resources she knew of to not only reunite with him but also to leave a trail of blood and bodies to demonstrate to the world just how little the Baelishes tolerated such insubordination.  

He praised her, kissing the back of her hand as he remained stuck in his bed.  He remembered the frustration he felt at not being able to stand up and wrap his arms around her, or pull her to his chest.  Her tears streaked her cheeks with renewed force as she explained that there was more to the story.  Petyr asked what that could be, though he had a sneaking suspicion: Dany--Drogo’s wife.  Sansa had called Bronn, asking that he execute Dany, therefore tying up all loose ends.  If Petyr were conscious, he would have told her that Bronn would refuse the job.  He had no problem killing women, but for as long as Petyr had known him, he would not rip a mother from her child.  

Petyr admitted, having grown up as a child of the state, he felt a particular twinge of disgust when it had to be done.  Though sometimes, he realized, it needed to be done all the same.  Dany would never let the death of her husband go, as neither Petyr or Sansa would ever allow a possible threat to the other exist.  He felt proud of his young wife yet again for knowing enough about the world she had been kept from for so long.  

When Bronn declined, Sansa asked Varys to link her to someone desperate enough to do it.  Varys gave her the name of a nobody who owed the Tyrells a lot of money.  Sansa offered to pay back all the debt as well as offer him starter money to run away with, if he broke into Drogo’s house, killed Danny and sent Sansa a photograph to prove it.  According to Sansa, he did what was asked of him, and more.  Her voice broke as she told him about the image that had been sent to her of Dany _and her baby_.  Both were photographed face down, in a pool of blood.  It was not expected, and it was crass.  And it upset his wife.  

Petyr demanded to know where this man was.  Sansa’s voice hardened as she explained that the money was transferred to his account automatically upon her confirmation text that she received proof.  She tried to stop the automatic process, but by the time Varys looked into the account the money had already disappeared, so had the man.  He vanished from the city, no doubt disgraced by his gruesome act.  

Feeling so utterly useless in his invalid state, Petyr tried to comfort her by telling her that it was all over, that he was awake now and wouldn’t let anything like that happen again.  He wiped the tears from her eyes and told her that it wasn’t her fault, that she could not have anticipated this.  He kissed her forehead and told her what was done was done and that while he was just as abhorred by it as she, it could not be undone.  He thought the child would not have much hope for a future anyway, living in the foster care system.  Not everyone was as able to survive it as Petyr had.  Seeing how his wife mourned for a child that was not hers was his first inkling that perhaps one day she might want one of her own.  

He had brushed it aside at the time as he was in no shape to offer her one even if he wanted to.  He winced at the memory of the pain associated with his first orgasm.  After six weeks of watching her wait on him hand and foot, keeping things as platonic as possible, she finally gave in.  Petyr knew, at first, sex was the furthest thing from her mind.  Though, being honest with himself, the first day that he was able to be awake for the majority of it, his mind lusted after her as if he did not have just a single thread keeping his insides from spilling out.  

He had worried that all the time and energy she put into taking care of him had killed any thoughts she may have had of being intimate again.  She stopped wearing her tight dresses, and her high heels.  Her hair was often in a sloppy bun as she wore various tank tops and sweatpants.  Sometimes he’d see her in jeans and know that she was running to the store.  He hated when she did, they had people for things like that.  He knew that really he just hated her leaving him, but he also knew that she needed to get out, even if it was just to pick up a gallon of milk.  He appreciated that Jon was taking care of her, bringing her coffee and insisting that she eat something just as she insisted that Petyr do the same.

He caught her in a weak moment one night.  At that point, Petyr was up and moving around, but was unable to do anything that exerted or really flexed the muscles in his abdomen.  Sansa had been sipping wine as they watched television, and he had hoped that it would loosen her from the constant concern she felt for his wellbeing.  They had perfected a way to cuddle such that she didn’t touch his wound, now healed up externally, though still mending internally.  She wasn’t wearing a bra under her tank top, and clearly hadn’t thought much of it as they hadn’t been able to be intimate since before their wedding.  Petyr had though, he had thought a lot about it that night.  He obsessed over the intimacy they were lacking, and the naked breast shifting with her movements, drawing his attention.  She reached over him to set her glass on the table, as she had a thousand times.  Only this time, Petyr caught the breast that hovered over him, caressing it in his grasp and tugging gently at the nipple through her shirt.

Her eyes closed as she shuddered into the touch she had not felt in so long and he knew instantly that he could stir the passion in her, and bring them back to where they had been before.  He covered her mouth with his as he quickly moved his hands to slide under the elastic waistband of her sweatpants, pleased to see she had not bothered with underwear either.  He allowed his fingers to explore and reacquaint themselves with her nub as she pulled from his lips and asked nervously, “Are you sure?”  

He nodded, trying to capture her mouth again, but she pulled away as she reached to slide his pants down.  He noticed how quickly she allowed things to progress and smiled realizing how much she had missed this part of their relationship too.  She looked up at him one more time for assurance as he hissed, “Yes.”  She lowered her mouth to his cock and began gently sucking.  

Petyr remembered wanting to tell her that it wasn’t his cock that was maimed, that she didn’t need to be so careful, but he was just grateful to feel her in a way that he hadn’t for so long.  Small waves of pleasure rippled through him, and he felt a little twinge of discomfort in his abdomen but he ignored it as he gestured for her to climb on top of him.  She tugged her pants down and gingerly lowered herself, refusing to take seat on him completely. He knew that she worried he wouldn’t be able to handle her weight in his body's current state of repair.  

He blinked at how tight she was, realizing just how much time had passed.  She set his hands on her hips and made him guide her movements.  He smiled at the memory of how careful she was with him, how thoughtful and protective.  She rocked slowly, sliding up and down him, never letting herself settle fully on him and he apologized as he began to come too quickly.  She shook her head smiling, as she cooed to him, "Shh, it's okay. It's okay." He had wanted to be better for her.  As he felt himself gush inside of her, his whole body flexed, including his abdomen.  He cried out in an unexpected stab of pain as the waves coursed through him.  He felt so divided between the pain that bolted down his center and the ecstasy that washed over him.  Sansa immediately ejected herself off of him quickly running for some painkillers.  

It was another couple of weeks before she would let him try again, though luckily he was in better shape at that point.  In fact, as time went on, he was more and more capable of reminding his wife that while he loved seeing this new nurturing side to her, he missed the naughty side that liked things rough and, at times, public.  

As he found more strength between the sheets, they found more strength in their business.  Sansa’s ruthlessness, no matter how intentional or not, was garnering them more respect from the other families.  The Baelishes had showed what happened when someone crossed them.  They died.  Their whole families died. Anyone they associated with died. Traitors would know no end to the carnage.

Petyr pulled out of his memories as Sansa placed her hand in his and pulled his arm into her lap.  She ran the fingers of her other hand over his forearm, tickling the fine hair, as she gripped his hand firmly.  He assured her, “We’ll be okay.”  She always gripped him and ran her fingers over him nervously when it was time to land.  Sansa hated the mild jostling each time a plane hit the tarmac.  He loved that her first instinct was to reach for him.    

Petyr was often awed by Sansa’s strength, fiercely killing anyone who came between them, doing what needed to be done no matter how hard to stomach the gruesome details at times.  Tending to him tirelessly, foregoing all of her own needs, required an endurance he had not known in any other.  Petyr was thankful to be restored and able to be strong for his wife in the rare moments when she needed it.  

Sansa nodded at him, smiling, “I know.  We’re almost home.”  

He was a little surprised at how well she was doing with the landing this time around, and then he followed her gaze to a little girl diagonally across from them.  It struck Petyr that as Sansa uncomfortably fidgeted with his arm, she was putting on a brave face for a child they had no attachment to, and had never met.  Petyr squeezed his hand in hers to get her to look at him and when she did, he kissed her.  Sansa may not have known her need to be a mother yet, but Petyr had in that moment realized his desire to make her one.  As their kiss ended, Sansa looked back at him and Petyr could think of no one more capable of bearing his child.      


	3. In Her Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She cocked an eyebrow, “This is not the goodbye I imagined.”

“Well, which one?”  Sansa held up two separate outfits, both equally skimpy.  

Petyr held his chin as if in serious thought, “Hm, it’s really hard for me to say.  Both have their high and low points.  I think it’s really important that you try them both on for me so that I can make a more informed decision.”  

Sansa rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same.  “Fine.  But I mean it, Petyr.  You have to actually let me try on the clothes.”  

She was clear in the rules, as he had a tendency to pounce on her before she was even able to dress in what she was supposed to model.  Her sister was turning twenty-one and instead of spending yet another night in that dingy tavern-bar, she was allowing Sansa to take her out to the clubs. 

She set the outfits down on the couch in Petyr’s home office as he hit the power button on the remote, turning off the tv.  He rolled his chair back away from his desk.  Sansa didn’t bother walking into the next room to change as after two years together, there was nothing to be shy about, not that she was the shy type anyway.  She untied her robe and let it fall from her shoulders, pausing for a moment to stand revealed in front of her husband.  She wore a red lace bra and matching panty-set.  

Petyr shifted in his chair and bit at his bottom lip.  She delighted in his discomfort.  Sansa turned and slowly bent over the couch, allowing him a great view of her backside.  She tried not to giggle as she imagined his expression.  The first outfit was a red two-piece.  Sansa liked how it showed off the indents of her belly.  There were times she had considered a belly-ring when she was a teenager, though now as an adult she recognized just the toned midriff alone was tantalizing enough.  

“Turn around and give me the whole picture.”  He waved his finger as he spoke.  

Sansa smiled, “Turn around and give me the whole picture--what?”  

“Please.”  He smiled, playing her game.  

She slowly turned around, allowing him a view of her backside.  When she was content that he had seen enough, she shimmied the clothes off and stood in just her bra and panties again.  Petyr stood, gliding around to the front of his desk.  “Tsk, tsk.  Don’t forget Petyr, no touching,” Sansa reminded.  

“No touching?  I thought you said I just had to let you try on both outfits.”  Petyr grinned as he leaned back against his desk, putting his hands in his pockets.  

Sansa liked where this was going, she could see how challenging it was for him.  She turned around and widened her stance before looking over her shoulder repeating, “No touching.” 

Sansa bent down slowly reaching for the backless black halter dress with the diamond encrusted collar.  She could hear him suck in breath behind her as she slid the dress on, clasping it behind her neck.  She slowly turned for him and Petyr cleared his throat as he said, “I like this one on you the best, but I don’t think you can wear a bra with a backless dress.”  

She smiled, “What would I do without you?”  She unhooked her bra and pulled it out from underneath the dress, throwing it back on the couch.  Petyr watched the lacey garment fall on the cushions and instantly brought his gaze back to the hardened peaks of her breasts under the black fabric of her dress.  

“So, this is the one?”  Sansa walked closer to him, linking her fingers in his belt.  His eyes drank her up from head to toe, completely under her spell.  

She unbuckled his belt and leaned into his ear as she asked playfully, “This is the dress you’re going to let me out to play in?  With all those hungry men out there, begging to dance with me, trying to grind against me?  To cop a feel?”  

He growled, turning his head quickly to catch her cheek in a gentle nip that gave her goosebumps, and moistened the small patch of lace that covered her sex.  His jaw tightened as he spoke, “I’ll kill anyone that touches you.”  

She tingled at his possessiveness and reached into his boxers, pulling his hard cock out, massaging it as she closed her eyes for a moment.  At the weighty feel of him in her palm, she moaned and breathed, “I know you will.”  

She wanted to give into how good she knew he would feel, but she reminded herself that he always felt better when he was driven out of control.  Sansa regained her senses as she slowly pulled herself away from him, fluttering her eyes open and guided his hand to grip his shaft.  She unhooked the dress and said, “Thank you for helping me pick, I should get a shower in before I go.”  

He watched her slip out of her dress, his hand moving up and down, working himself.  Sansa relished in his primal need for her, enjoying the idea of being jerked off to.  She slid her finger in the side of her underwear, allowing her knuckle to rub against her lips as she pushed the material of the crotch outward, “Aw, Petyr.  Look at what you did to me.  I soaked through my panties.  I can’t wear these now.”  

She slid them off, exposing herself to him completely.  Petyr started to pull away from the desk, cock still firmly in hand, and Sansa raised her voice.  “Don’t forget, no touching.”  

He pursed his lips and his nostrils flared.  She knew that sometimes her games tried his patience, but she knew also that he enjoyed them as much as she did.  To reward him for his good behavior she placed her panties in his other hand for him to sniff as he massaged himself to her naked body.  

She rubbed at her breasts, plucking and grazing her nipples as she asked in a sultry voice, “Do you think I could go without a bra?  Do my tits look good enough?”  

“God, yes.”  Petyr groaned as his hand pumped faster.  

“Good.”  Sansa smiled in mock innocence.  “How’s my ass?”  She turned around, running her hands over it, grabbing handfuls in front of him.  “Does it look firm enough?”  

He sniffed her juices from the balled up wad of red lace in his fist as he stared ahead.  “Fuck, Sansa.”  

“Aww, my poor baby.  Is it hard to keep your hands to yourself?”  She offered a pouty face as she cooed to him.  

He nodded vigorously as he whimpered, “Yes.”  

“Would a kiss make it better?”  She asked as she bent down in front of him, pulling her hair over one shoulder,  wrapping her lips around the head of his dick.  

He groaned loudly through clenched teeth as she tickled the tip with her tongue.  She licked the liquid that formed, cleaning him before she stood back up, “Mm, you taste good.”  

Their doorbell rang and she knew it was Arya.  “Oh!  I gotta run.”  She scooped all the clothes from the couch, listening to him rapidly tug at himself, trying to finish before she left or put clothes on, stealing his view.  She turned back with her arms full, just in time to see cum splatter on the hardwood floor, missing the area rug by centimeters.  

Sansa giggled, loving what she did to him as she grabbed a tissue from an end table and handed it to him after planting a chaste kiss on his cheek.  “There, doesn’t that feel better?”  

She heard him quietly cursing as she dashed down the hall towards their room.  She knew Arya would probably need help dressing as she hadn’t frequented any of the clubs Sansa was bringing her to.  Sansa ran in the shower to get a quick wash and shave her legs, pinning her hair up to avoid it getting wet.  She barely dried herself before she was pulling the black dress on and grabbing her shoes to slip on as she walked to where she knew she would find Arya, the kitchen.  

Much to Sansa’s surprise, Arya was wearing a mini skirt.  It was of course leather, but a skirt regardless.  She wore a dark shiny blue top that only had one strap and a completely sheer back.  It was probably the nicest shirt Sansa had seen on her since she was her maid of honor and she wondered secretly where her little sister had gotten it.  She made it a point to compliment Arya and smiled when she responded shyly, “Thanks, whatever.  It’s just a shirt.”  

Jon came in the kitchen, shaking a bottle of chocolate milk in his hand.  His eyes did a double-take on Arya and then he did it again much more theatrically for her to notice.  She punched him in the arm and told him to shut up.  Jon pointed out how funny it was that she was telling a man who couldn’t speak to shut up.  Arya rolled her eyes and said, “Okay what’s first?”  

Sansa pulled a bottle of vodka out of the freezer and said, “Pre-game.”  

Arya and Jon grinned as she leaned against the counter and pulled out three shot glasses from the cupboard above.  Petyr walked in and stood behind her, placing his hands on the counter around her.  She smiled at the feel of him against her back as she reached up and pulled a fourth glass down and filled them.  His voice was a playful rumble as he whispered in her ear, “I hope you get your fill of dancing tonight because as soon as you get home I’m going to fuck you till you can’t walk, let alone dance.”  

Sansa smirked and cleared her throat.  “Grab a glass.”  She instructed as she pushed her ass into him to get him to back away, trying to ignore how turned on she felt.  They both carried the shots over, handing one to Arya and one to Jon.  

“To my baby sister, all grown up!”  Sansa raised her glass.  

Jon did not speak as his hands were full, but he motioned to Sansa and nodded his head in agreement as he raised his glass to meet hers.  Sansa laughed as she couldn’t help but think he meant to mirror the “all grown up” sentiment and not the baby sister one.  

Petyr smiled and spoke to Arya as he rose his glass to meet Sansa and Jon’s, “I gave Jon the bail money, may you not need it.”  

Arya gushed, “Thanks guys.”  She raised her glass, clinking it gently against the three raised in the air.  They all downed their shots, each with their own puckered face.  Sansa sucked the inside of her mouth at the sour taste.  

She couldn’t help but notice how no one coughed over their shot, realizing how used to alcohol they all were, even Jon.  She laughed inside,  _ What were the signs of alcoholism again? _  She looked at Petyr’s smiling eyes knowing that he was too controlled for an addiction.  Though she also noted that he tended to lose control around her, frequently.       

It was a funny contradiction.  Petyr Baelish, typically calculated and disciplined, was often ruled by his emotion in the presence of Sansa.  Some might say the solution would of course be to spend time apart from her to regain his senses.  However, Sansa found when they were separated he quickly became preoccupied thinking of her.  He could truly be a restless beast with his craving for her.  Sansa found only her affection could calm him and bring him to his senses.  Often times, it meant a simple touch, whether it be a naked embrace or merely clasped hands.  

There were times she gave that to him freely and unabashed, sitting in his lap, soaking in his adoration.  And then there were times that she used it against him, torturing him with his unfulfilled need to touch her.  What Petyr didn’t know, and what she would never tell him, was that she needed his touch to function properly as well.  When she teased him, she teased herself also.  She felt solace in the caress of his gaze, often feeling as if he was actually touching her.  She wondered if he felt the same about the lustful way she watched him at times.            

Sansa knew that Petyr wanted to accompany her out but she made it clear that it was “just the girls” all the same.  She had every intention of bringing Jon around for protection, but offered it up to Petyr as if it was something she was just deciding to do to appease him.  He thanked her for being reasonable and she stifled a grin that she got one, however small, by him.  

She continued steadfast in her stipulation that Jon was to hang back and not infringe upon their girls-only evening.  Petyr agreed, though she could see in his eyes that he was scheming.  Knowing her husband, Sansa had a feeling that Petyr’s definition of “hang back” and her definition were different.  But luckily, Jon had been working for Sansa for over five years and watching her back as her protective cousin even before that.  Jon understood what she would require of him.  

Bringing her back to the people before her, Arya asked impatiently, “Can we get this show on the road?”  Sansa guessed Arya was worried that more time would be spent saying nice things about her, as she was clearly uncomfortable with sentiment and acknowledgement.  

“Of course!”  Sansa jumped out of her seat and scooted Jon and Arya to the door.  Petyr smirked as he trailed behind slowly.  She could tell by his saunter that he knew she wasn’t going to leave without a goodbye kiss the others couldn’t see.  She loved that in just two years they had learned to read each other so perfectly.  It made her excited to consider how much better they would be able to master each other as time went on.  

Sansa opened the front door to show Arya and Jon the limo parked outside.  Jon was not unfamiliar with limos as Petyr and Sansa had used them from time to time, though he was not always invited along.  Arya on the other hand had never ridden in one as far as Sansa was aware.  Judging by how big Arya’s eyes got, Sansa was right.  

Sansa remembered the day that Petyr had commissioned the limo to take them out.  He stood in his office, holding the phone to his ear as she sprawled out on the couch watching television.  She heard him give the date and time for the limo and she instantly sat up.  “Why a limo?  Not that I’m arguing.”  

Petyr continued to speak into the phone as he smiled at her eavesdropping.  Sansa listened further, only hearing more logistics.  She stood up, taking her bowl of grapes with her as she walked in front of him, giving him an expectant expression.  

He concluded the call and then looked at her, “My, my, you’re awfully curious.”  

“I am.  It’s my sister’s birthday.  You aren’t invited and you already know that.  Why are you making arrangements for it?”  Sansa bit a grape as she cocked an eyebrow at him.  

He shoved his phone in his pocket as he grinned, “You’re territorial aren’t you?  ‘ _ My sister. _ ’” 

“Yes, I am.  But you’re up to something.”  Her eyebrows furrowed.  “And the ‘territorial’ comment tells me you are trying to evade me right now.  Trying to pull my attention to my feelings for my sister, not my feelings about you meddling.”  

His grin had turned predatory as he groaned, “God I could fuck you and that beautiful brain of yours right now.”  

“Don’t change the subject.”  She stood firm, though sucked a grape to tease him.  She knew it was bad to demand focus, and then actively try to distract.  But she just couldn’t help it.  

Petyr sighed, “Fine.  It’s more for Jon than anything.”  

“What?”  Sansa exclaimed, eyes wide, dropping the grape back in the bowl.  

“So he can drink too.”  Petyr said nonchalantly.  

“You’re fibbing.”  Sansa smiled knowingly back at him.  

“No.”  Petyr reached for her and she backed away a step, still smiling at him.  

“Yes, you are.”  She set the bowl of grapes down on the end table and put her hands on her hips, “You want Jon there to protect me.  You wouldn’t let someone there to protect me get three-sheets-to-the-wind.”  

Petyr reached for her again, and missed as she swiveled away, grinning back at him.  He laughed.  “Jon, on his drunkest day could probably still protect you better than almost anyone else I could hire to.”  

Sansa heard respect in his voice, “Probably.”  

He walked towards her as she backed away, both smiling.  She took a step to the side and he mirrored her movement.  She couldn’t stifle a giggle at the realization that he was tracking her.  She laughed, “But why take the chance?  Don’t you want your wife’s bodyguard uncompromised?”    

Petyr joked, “I can’t in good conscience, allow any man to suffer a “girls night” without being at least some level of intoxicated.”  

Sansa rolled her eyes as he advanced on her, and she darted to the other side of the couch, keeping the furniture between them.  “You make it sound so awful to be around beautiful women dancing in front of you.”  

“It is awful.”  Petyr made a couple of motions as if he was going to walk around the couch, faking her out.  “He’s going to be around two women he doesn’t want to touch, and a bunch of women he can’t.”  

“Why can’t he?”  Sansa pouted playfully.  “Jon can go get some.  I don’t care.  I’m gonna be drunk, dancing with my sister!”  

Petyr paced his side of the couch, not letting his eyes off of her, “Because he can’t lose sight of you.  Jon doesn’t look the type to get his rocks off on the dance floor.”  

Sansa bit her lip playfully, “You are.”  

“So are you.”  He breathed.  

Sansa heard the change in his tone and felt herself tingle in excitement as she realized quickly her playfulness stirred a hunger in him that she would get to satiate.  But she would not allow herself to lose focus.  “Fine.  Limo.  But it’s not because you are such a decent friend to Jon _. _ ”

“Aren’t I?”  Petyr started to walk slowly around the side of the couch, his eyebrows furrowed in mock disbelief.  

Sana put her hands on her hips again, “I see right through you.”  

“Do you?”  He smiled as he inched closer.   

“Uh-huh.”  She giggled and bolted.  She jumped on the couch and over the back, attempting to put the couch between them.  But Petyr had already turned and crashed into her as she landed behind. 

His arms wrapped around her in a vice grip as he looked at her with hungry eyes and a devilish grin, “And what do you see exactly?”  

Not allowing herself to be phased by the enticing way he looked at her or the way his body called to her in their tight embrace, she smiled back as she explained, “You are encouraging Jon to get drunk with us so that he will be with us.  You said you agreed to him keeping a distance, and then you thought of a way for us to include him.”  

Petyr continued to play dumb, “Why would I care if you and your sister include cousin Jon?”  

“A couple of reasons, actually.”  Sansa fought hard to remain composed.  “The closer he is to us, the better he can protect me.  And, you are hoping that with him sticking close by, it will turn off any man who may think I’m single.”  

Petyr blinked soberly back at her.  She took his expression to mean that she had hit the nail on the head and that not many people had done that before.  He broke out into a wide grin and gripped her tighter, “You caught me!”  He nuzzled into her further as he continued, “Yes, I have my selfish reasons.  But wouldn’t it be nice to let Jon cut loose a little all the same?”  

Sansa remembered thinking about how lonely Jon looked at times, pining after that woman from the sporting goods store,  _ Yvette, Ygritt, whatever. _  She sighed and gave into him, “Fine, we’ll get a limo.  For Jon.” 

The limo was a concession, but a nice flashy one that she knew her sister would enjoy.  Sansa smiled at how right she was while she watched Arya and Jon beaming as they bounded down the walkway toward the limo.  Sansa stood in the doorway and expected Petyr to grab her and immediately push her up against the wall.  But he didn’t.  He surprised her by walking up behind her and resting his head on her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her middle.  He sighed and told her that he would miss her.  

She cocked an eyebrow, “This is not the goodbye I imagined.”  

“What did you imagine?”  Petyr smiled into her neck before kissing it.  

She scooted her bottom back into his pelvis as she gripped one of his thighs behind her.  

He sighed, “I’m not going to excite you and then send you on your way.”  

“Why not?”  She pouted playfully.  “I thought you were going to fuck me til I couldn’t walk or dance anymore.”  

“Oh I will.  When you come back to me.  It would be cruel of me to wind you up now and then make you wait all night to scratch that itch.”  He kept an arm around her as he took a step back allowing a gap between them.  He ran the fingertips of his free hand over her bare back.  

Sansa shuddered as he traced her spine.  She knew he was referencing her teasing him not a half hour before.  She grinned, “I let you come.”  

He turned her around and held her face as he looked her directly in the eye, “And when you get home, I’ll let you come too.”  He leaned down and kissed her so deeply and passionately that she felt wetness pool between her legs.  

As he pulled away and she felt the material on her dress tickle her taut nipples, she smiled in a haze, “I thought you said you weren’t cruel enough to wind me up and make me wait.”  

He reached down kissing her again, gently biting her bottom lip.  She slowly opened her eyes and watched him shrug his shoulders, his hands not letting go of her cheeks as he smiled, “I guess I am after all.”  

Sansa groaned and he pulled away, turning her back around to face the door as he did.  He kissed her shoulder once more as he said, “I’ll see you when you get home.” 

Sansa felt a slight tap on her left buttcheek as she stepped through the front door.  She refused to give him the satisfaction of looking back over her shoulder as she clicked her heels down the walkway to the limo that held her family excitedly waiting inside.               


	4. Girls' Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’M FUCKING TWENTY-ONE!” Arya shouted as she laughed.

The limo pulled up to the Starfall Club and Sansa watched Arya’s smile widen at all the lights and the crowd of people outside.  Jon looked out the window and rolled his eyes as he signed, “Starfall--really?”  

Sansa didn’t blame Jon for being less than enthused, it was a gay club and Jon was an attractive man after all.  He always got unwanted attention at Starfall.  She smiled back at him, “Yes, really.  Gay clubs are the best for dancing.”  

Arya laughed, “Yeah, Jon.  Dont-cha wanna get your dance-on?”  

Sansa stepped out of the open door before Jon could reply.  Arya was next out and Jon brought up the rear.  They stood in line for all of five seconds before the bouncer saw Sansa and waved her up.  

Arya turned to her and laughed, “Even at a gay club you get flagged as a total VIP hottie.”  

“What makes you think it wasn’t you they spotted?”  Sansa smiled back at her.  

As they walked forward however, it was Sansa that the bouncer handed the card to.  She flipped it over and a picture of a golden rose glittered in the neon light outside.  The big man touched his earpiece and listened for a second before speaking, “Your friends may go in, but you’ve been invited to the Rose Room upstairs.”  

Arya looked back unsure of what that meant, but clear that she was not interested in being separated.  Sansa smiled and nodded her head reassuringly, “I’ll make a quick appearance to say hello, it’s just polite.  Go in and I’ll join you as soon as I can.”  

Sansa turned back to Jon and handed him her black credit card.  “Order me a drink too, I won’t be long.”  His eyes grew wide once he looked at the card and he nodded his head. 

The Rose Room was Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon’s special VIP room.  She had forgotten that they had bought Starfall.  It made sense that they had though; Loras definitely loved the nightlife.  It was Loras’ family connections that gave the couple the power, but he was always much more interested in the perks of running his portion of the city.  Renly, on the other hand, was more invested in the nuts and bolts of ruling it.  Though Sansa found he could easily be distracted from that too.  

Petyr had taught her that it was both a courtesy and  _ expectation _ to be invited to the VIP room.  In her years before Petyr, Sansa was invited to the VIP room only because she caught the club owner’s eye and was offered special privilege in exchange for sexual favors.  Now that she ran so much of the city and was  _ connected _ , no one dared to send her one of those types of invitations.  

Now, whenever Sansa was asked to meet in the VIP room it was for two reasons: to show respect amongst families and to afford them the opportunity to sniff out any possible malintent from Sansa  _ and Petyr _ .  Sansa would expect nothing less from them, if she had remembered that this had become one of their clubs.  She wouldn’t have brought Arya if she had remembered, no need to subject her sister to politics on her twenty-first.  

As she reached the top of the stairs, she saw them sprawled out across their couch, leaning against each other as if they were already exhausted, though the night was still young.  Renly spotted Sansa first, “Shortcake!”  

_ Strawberry Shortcake _ , Sansa sighed and rolled her eyes with a false smile.  She hated how people felt that they needed to have a nickname for someone to feel closer to them.  They were not close; they were an opposing house.  They were only as close as Petyr and her allowed them to think they were.  Which, Sansa reminded herself, they were actually leading them to believe that they were pretty close.  

“Ren.”  Sansa replied warmly.  

“What am I?  Table scraps?”  Loras pouted and Sansa hoped it was in jest.  

She laughed and responded, “No--dessert.  That’s never first, but always looked forward to.”  

“Aw, Shortcake!”  Loras sat up off of Renly and leaned forward, “You always know just what to say.”  

“She’d have to be quick-witted to survive Baelish.”  Renly butted-in as he sat up further too.  He gestured to an easy chair across from their couch, “Sit, rest your feet in those killer heels.”  

Sansa glanced down at her footwear, smiling, as she made herself comfortable in the chair.  “Thanks for the invite, boys.”  

“Of course.”  Loras spoke graciously, “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”  

He didn’t bother to assume that she was at a club to visit a club.  People knew that Sansa didn’t really visit clubs as much as she used to, and even in the past, it wasn’t as often as other people her age.  The Baelishes had their own clubs to attend if it struck their fancy.  And Sansa didn’t tend to visit clubs that they didn’t own without Petyr.  The visits usually contained about a half an hour of business, fifteen minutes on the dance floor, and then either ten minutes of hasty fucking in the bathroom or a quick rush off the dance floor to their car narrowly avoiding another bathroom hump.  Sansa smiled to herself, thinking of how turned on Petyr got from dancing with her.  

Sansa could understand why they may be curious and view her behavior as out of the ordinary.  She shrugged her shoulders and smiled playfully, “Girls night.”  

Loras stared blankly for a moment and then broke out laughing, “Sure.  Baelish finally lets you out of his sight and it’s only to a gay club.  He’s a smart man.”  

Renly started laughing too and Sansa faked a chuckle as her phone buzzed,  _ Starfall?  How’s Rose Room going?   _

It was Petyr.  Sansa sighed and returned to Loras, “What makes you think I’m out of his sight?”  She typed in,  _ It’s fine, I’m wrapping it up now.   _

Renly reached over and rubbed Loras’ chest and made an exasperated face, “I know exactly what you mean.  Once they get a hot piece like us, they go crazy trying to keep us under their thumb.”  

“Under my thumb?!”  Loras shouted back surprised.  

“Yes.”  Renly smiled and mocked Loras’ voice, “Oh Renly, don’t fuck that one.  Oh Renly, not that one either.  Oo Renly are we going to vacation here or here?”  

Loras laughed, “You love it.”  

“Mm, I do.”  Renly leaned in and they kissed.  Sansa sat and smiled at their display and hoped that she didn’t look too bored.  She could see over the railing, Arya and Jon were drinking and dancing and she longed to join her family.    

They broke apart, bringing her attention back to them, and Loras asked, “Any word on the model shipment?  How many can we expect?”  

Sansa’s jaw tightened through her fake smile, “Business?  On girl’s night, really?  Besides, you know you need an invite like everyone else.”  

Loras smiled sheepishly, “You can’t blame me for trying.”  

Renly flopped back into the couch with an angry sigh, “That bitch thinks she owns fashion week.”  Sansa didn’t have to ask who he was referring to: Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister’s wife.  Renly hated her with a passion because he believed that she killed her first husband, his brother Robert.  Judging by the way the will was written, Sansa was inclined to believe him.  Neither Renly or their other brother Stannis got a dime.  Cersei took it all and was married to Jaime Lannister that same year.  The peace between the Lannisters and the Tyrells was tentative at best and only in the interest of business.  

Loras started petting Renly’s arm, “I know, babe.”  He looked up at Sansa, who didn’t agree or disagree.  She was the picture of neutrality.  Sighing in resignation, Loras added to Renly, “Wanna say goodbye to Sansa and scope out threesome options?”  

Renly glanced through the railing to the dance floor below as he spoke, “It’s been a pleasure, Shortcake.”  

Sansa smiled at them and stood.  Loras glanced over and exclaimed, “Jon!  You said ‘Girl’s Night’ and you brought Jon along.”  

“I  _ knew  _ he was gay!  You don’t have great hair like that and not be at least a little gay.”  Renly was gaping at Jon, “Oo, can we play with him?”  

Sansa appreciated being asked, and smiled back, “I can’t spare him tonight, but I’ll let him know you boys are interested.  He’ll be flattered to have gotten your attention.”  

Both Renly and Loras made pouting faces, Loras spoke, “Shortcake, you are killing our buzz!  You won’t help with Fashion Week, you won’t let us play with your guy, what’s next?  Pretty soon you’re going to tell us you only came to dance.”  

“Well…”  Sansa smiled.  

“Go!”  They spoke almost in unison.  Renly continued, “Seriously, enjoy yourself.  It’s good to see you.”  

Loras nodded his head in agreement and Sansa tilted her head down in acknowledgement.  “Until next time,” she smiled.  

As Sansa came down the open staircase, she instantly spotted Arya gyrating on the dance floor and Jon covering his mouth as he laughed.  Sansa rolled her eyes knowing that he was always self-conscious about smiling or laughing because of his tongue, or lack thereof.  Sansa weaved through the crowd to get to them and upon seeing her, Arya wrapped her arms around her with a big smile and screamed above the music, “My beautiful sister!  Isn’t she beautiful?”  

Sansa looked at Jon in question and he grinned and nodded back confirming Sansa’s suspicion that Arya had drank a little quickly for the energy of the room.  “How many has she had?”  

Jon answered that Arya had only had her first drink plus Sansa’s when she hadn’t gotten back soon enough.  Sansa wondered if she had taken something else but decided that Arya was just affected by the lights, music, and energy of the night.  They danced for hours with attractive men surrounding them and  _ not _ groping them.  Sansa had to admit that there was a freedom to being able to dance freely without having to deal with unwanted attention.  

After Jon ran to the bathroom, Arya pulled Sansa aside, “This has been great, but let’s go somewhere we can hook Jon up with someone.”  

“What?”  Sansa couldn’t hide her surprise at Arya’s suggestion.  “But tonight is all about you.”

Arya smiled, “Yeah and I want Jon to get some ass.  Poor bastard looks so lonely.”  

“Lonely?”  Sansa asked surprised.  But she knew, as much as she tried to deny it.  Jon was Sansa’s right hand man, bodyguarding her was his official job, but he had always done more than that.  He was by her side for everything, from violent sea-side take overs to mundane morning rituals.  She even took Jon shopping with her like he was one of her girlfriends.  Even though he still garnered the same feelings and recognition from her, Sansa knew that she didn’t call Jon over all the time, like she used to.  Sansa gave Jon the night off a few times a week now which was substantially more than she had before.    

Arya rolled her eyes at her, “Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean.  Just cause you’re all-eyes for Petyr doesn’t mean that you can’t see what’s going on with Jon.  Poor guy needs to get laid.”  

_ Or he just misses his friend,  _ Sansa thought.  And then she realized that she had not had the opportunity to miss him because she had Petyr,  _ Maybe finding a woman would help him.   _ She laughed to Arya, “Okay, fine.  It’s your night, whatever you want.”  

Jon was returning and Sansa and Arya, both gestured for him to follow to the door.  Realizing that they were leaving, Jon texted the limo driver to have him pull up to the door.  He asked where they were going next, to which Sansa replied that they were going to the Craig Club.  

Jon gave her a questioning look and Sansa smiled and nodded.  It made sense that Jon would question her decision to go to the Craig Club.  The Craig Club had a sleazy reputation for fast and easy, casual fucks and Jon knew that Sansa wasn’t interested in that.  Sansa wondered if he thought that they were going to hook Arya up.  Sansa looked her sister over and started to wonder the same as she whispered, “What’s the story with Gendry anyway?”  

“That’s random.”  Arya pulled a face.  Then she smiled, “I’m making him suffer.”  

Jon cocked an eyebrow as the limo pulled up.  They all climbed in and Sansa seconded his question, “Oh?”  

Arya rolled her eyes and said, “Yeah he had a pregnancy scare with some slut while he was out on the road for work.”  

Sansa felt a drop in the pit of her stomach, considering how awful that would feel if she had been in her sister’s shoes, “Do you want help with this  _ slut _ ?  Do you have a name?”  Sansa looked over and saw Jon had pulled out a pen and had a receipt from his pocket flipped over to write on.  

Arya laughed, “God no.  I’m not worried about her.  Put your pen away Jon, I’m not giving up names.”  

Jon scowled and shoved the paper and pen back in his pocket.  Sansa huffed a little more than she expected to, “You’re strangely calm about this.”  

Arya looked at Sansa with a cool confidence.  “Men act out when they don’t get what they want.  He wants to marry me and knock me up with a small herd of little brown-haired future welders.”

Sansa blinked, unable to comprehend.  Why was marriage a bad thing?  And kids, well it wasn’t anything she had thought of for herself, but for Arya, why not?  She rather liked the idea of being an auntie, watching over a niece or nephew, protecting them with all of her power and influence.  She wondered for a brief second how Petyr would look holding a baby, and then shook it out of her head.  “Arya, what’s wrong with that?” 

“I’M FUCKING TWENTY-ONE!”  Arya shouted as she laughed.  “I’m too young to be settling down, fuck that shit!”  She looked over at Sansa, suddenly remembering that Sansa was twenty-one when she and Petyr had married.  She added quickly, “I mean, to each their own, you know!”  

Jon smiled and looked down at the floor of the vehicle, clearly loving the Stark-dynamic.  Sansa rolled her eyes, “Obviously.”  

Arya explained a little more, “Look, it’s like this.  I love Gen.  I do.  And honestly, out of the fish in the sea, when I do settle down, it’ll probably be him.  He’s a funny bastard, you know.  A smile to die for, and protective as fuck.  He’s smart too, you wouldn’t know it because of how he talks, but he knows his shit.  He makes the best goddamned blades I’ve ever used.”  Sansa smiled at her sister’s gushing over a man she’d been on and off again for over two years.  

“And he wants that life.  And when I want it too, I’ll place a white doily on my head and pop out as many thick-headed Gendy Waters’ spawn as my little cooter can handle,” Arya confessed.  Jon’s eyebrows shot up and he coughed out a laugh he was trying to trap.  Sansa just sat agape, she had never heard her sister talk about the future, or the possibility of kids or marriage.  Arya continued, “But not right now.   _ Right now _ , I’m twenty-one.  Completely unattached.  And taking the world by the balls.”  

Jon looked up and told her that she was not completely unattached as she had feelings for Gendry.  He continued telling her that Gendry may not always be there waiting in the wings.  

Arya smiled a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “If he’s not there when I’m ready then it wasn’t meant to be.  I’m not going to rush myself to keep a hold of someone only to find out it went tits up because I wasn’t ready.  He knows how I feel.  If he’s there when I’m ready: great.  If not: fuck him.”  

Sansa poured them all a drink from the mini bar and passed everyone a glass, she raised hers and they followed suit.  “Fuck him!”  They seconded it and gulped the drink back, just in time to arrive at the Craig Club.  

As the car stopped, Arya winked at Sansa before turning to Jon, “For my birthday I’d like to forget about real life for a bit and grab a little side-attention myself.”  

He asked what she was saying and she sighed impatiently, “I want to fuck a stranger.  And you are a cock-block.”  

Jon’s hands flew up in a flurry of movement as he exclaimed that he was not, that Sansa never had never had a problem getting any while he was around.

Sansa chuckled and added, “Because I made you keep a distance.  Jon, just give a little breathing room, we’ll pop in from time to time, but give the birthday girl a chance.”  

He sighed that he understood but clearly didn’t enjoy being told he was a “cock-block.”  They climbed out and entered the club, no one was denied or questioned at the door.  The Craig Club accepted everyone, as not many tended to be there long before leaving with a  _ friend. _  Jon went to one end of the bar and Arya and Sansa went to the other.  Sansa had a flash of dejavu of the last time that she was there, it was not a very positive visit.  Arya sidled up to another woman at the bar and spoke loudly to Sansa so that the woman could hear, “Oh my god, he’s back!”  

Sansa smiled and played dumb, “Who?”  

“The man that made me come four times in one night.  Fuck, I would give anything to ride that cock again.  He never said a word, all night.  And he wouldn’t kiss me either.  He got right down to business, playing my clit like a fucking pro.”  Arya pointed unabashedly at Jon.  

“Strong silent type, huh?  That’s hot.”  Sansa enjoyed playing along, and couldn’t help putting on a higher pitched voice, “Oh my god!  Are you gonna make a move?” 

“I’ve got to!  The thing he did with his hands, I’m going!”  And just as Arya made to get up off of the stool, the woman that had no choice but to listen was gliding past her rapidly.  She had already reached Jon before Arya sat back down.  

A deep rumbling voice sounded over their heads, “That was sweet, helping Johnny-boy get a little ass.”  

Sansa and Arya swiveled around to see Bronn, one of Petyr’s associates standing before them.  Sansa could not hide her irritation at seeing him, “What are you doing here?  I’ll pay you double to leave.”  

He chuckled, “I’m not here for work, just pleasure.  What brings the Stark sisters out?”  He swiveled more towards Arya, “This isn’t your typical spot.  Trouble at home?”  He smiled in a dirty way that made Sansa want to slap it off his face.  Arya on the other hand, much to Sansa’s annoyance, returned his grin.  

“It’s my twenty-first birthday.”  Arya smiled, leaning back, setting her elbows on the bar, hitching her chest out to him.  

He rubbed at his facial hair and looked her up and down, “What a coincidence, I turned forty this year, why don’t we give each other a gift?”  

Sansa rolled her eyes and sighed.  Arya glanced over to her and spoke to Bronn, “Will you give me and my sis a moment?”

He smiled, dipped his head and backed away.  Sansa searched Arya’s face, “What are you doing?  I thought you were done with him?”  

“I’ve been done with him a thousand times and yet he still does something for me.  I was saying I wanted to hook up just to fool Jon.  But honestly, Sans, after the shit Gen pulled on me, I wouldn’t turn down a chance to feel good.”  Raw honesty bled through Arya’s words and Sansa understood that feeling.  

Sansa was thankful she hadn’t suffered it in a long time, and didn’t anticipate ever having to again.  “Okay, no judgement.”  

Arya grinned from ear to ear and wrapped her arms around Sansa, hugging her close, “You always understand everything.  I love ya, sis.  You know that right?”  

Sansa laughed, as she had never questioned it.  Memories flashed in front of her of all the times Arya had proven just how much she loved her.  “Never a doubt, Arya.   _ My _ beautiful sister.”

Arya hugged her tighter again and then slid off the stool towards Bronn.  If Sansa was being honest with herself, she was getting tired.  At the ripe old age of twenty-three she wanted to call it a night at twelve-thirty.  She sighed at herself and how domesticated she’d become,  and then grinned to herself at how much it didn’t really bother her.  

“You’ve got a beautiful smile.”  Sansa looked over to see a young, fit man with blond hair tied in a ponytail at the base of his neck smiling back at her.  

Sansa tried to not roll her eyes, but smiled back politely.  She told herself that someday she would be old and grey and would appreciate the attention of young men.  “It’s nice of you to notice.”  

She kept her body language closed, arms close to her middle, legs crossed, and made sure not to smile too wide or look at him too long.  He was cute in a pretty-boy sort of way, but she had no game to play with him.  The eager woman with the eavesdropping problem was trying to pull Jon away from the bar.  He looked up at Sansa for direction, never forgetting his duty and she smiled and waved him off.  

The blonde noticed, “You letting your boyfriend go?  My name is Lance, if your relationship’s open.”  

Sansa looked back at Arya who looked so small on the dance floor with Bronn, towering over her with his long arms wrapped around her.  Sansa knew on her wedding day, by the look the two had shared, that they would become quite familiar with each other.  What she had not counted on was that it would be an ongoing repeat occurrence over the years.  She would never understand his hold on Arya, or hers on him.  Thinking back to the limo and Arya’s discussion of family life, Sansa recognized that the way Arya moved with Bronn and the glow she radiated, could not be further than the life she described with Gendry.  

Sansa thought of Petyr and the way he made her feel with his arms wrapped around her, and the way she felt “settled down” in her marriage to him.  She smiled knowing that while Arya was divided between the qualities of each man, Sansa had both in Petyr.  She looked back at this Lance, “And what if it’s not?”  

He blinked, stunned at her rejection.  “Okay, either way.  I just didn’t want a beautiful girl like you to have to go home alone while your man’s occupied.”  

Lance shifted in his seat and Sansa realized that he had just been shoved.  All of a sudden Kevan Lannister, Jaime’s cousin appeared from behind, “I’m so sorry for my son, Lancel.  He didn’t know.”  

Sansa smiled up at Kevan politely, “I figured.”  

“What?  Who is she?”  Lancel furrowed his eyebrows and asked.  

Sansa reached her hand out, smiling as she offered, “I’m Sansa  _ Baelish _ .”  

Lancel turned white as a ghost and delicately took her hand.  He reached down to kiss it politely and Sansa retracted her hand too fast for him to touch her.  He pled his case, “I didn’t realize you were Littlefinger’s, I mean Baelish’s wife.  I apologize for any inappropriateness on my part.”  

She smiled at how quickly he learned.  “No apology necessary.”  

She noticed both men looking around her, daring not to ask where Petyr was, so she continued, “I’ve been out on a girls’ night, and Petyr insisted I bring one of our men along, in case any trouble.  He’s so thoughtful, very  _ attentive _ .”  

Sansa knew she didn’t have to threaten them with Petyr’s ever watchful eye, but she couldn’t resist.  “Kevan, will you walk me to the car?”  

“Of course.”  He responded gesturing for her to go before him.  She noticed a quick glare to Lancel.  As they got to the door, she took the opportunity to ask him, “Do you know if all of the invitations have been sent for Fashion Week yet?”

Kevan looked back at her clearly trying to weigh out in his head whether or not to share information like that.  He took an opportunity for his own benefit, “They say that any man that touches you, doesn’t live to tell about it.”  

“Have all the invitations been sent?”  Sansa repeated, knowing this would be an exchange.  

He sighed heavily, “Yes.  Except the Tyrell one.”  

Sansa pursed her lips, “It’s rude to make them wait.  I hope someone is advising her of that.”  

There was a stale silence as the car pulled up.  She gestured for him to open the door for her as he was too nervous to think of it himself.  When he opened the door, Sansa reached up and laid her hand on his.  He squirmed uncomfortably and stared at the forced contact.  She spoke calmly to him, “He never laid a finger on me.  I found your son to be very respectful, and his compliment to be very gracious.”  

Kevan sighed deeply, letting his eyes flutter, as he almost groaned, “Thank you.” 

Sansa got in the car and watched him wobble back into the club through the tinted window.  She smirked at the effect she had, and the effect Petyr had.  She pulled out her phone and texted,  _ I’m on my way home.  _

Her phone buzzed back almost instantly,  _ Early?  Couldn’t be away too long, could you?   _

She smiled at his flirtation and responded,  _ Yes, that’s exactly it.   _

_ I’m almost done work, I’ll be home shortly as well.   _ He replied.  

She laughed before typing back to him,  _ Work?  You couldn’t stand being home without me.   _

Sansa considered Arya and Jon’s end of the night plans as she sat in the car.  She thought Arya would end up riding with Bronn, and Jon would find a way home from his excursion.  But she still felt it better form to leave the limo for them so she had the driver pull over and called for a cab.  She instructed the driver to go back and wait.  She threw a couple of hundreds at the guy and texted both Arya and Jon telling them that the limo was waiting for them if they needed it.  

About five or ten minutes later, a cab pulled up and she still hadn’t seen a response from either of them.  Though she read Petyr’s,  _ I can, but it’s preferable not to.   _ She smiled at it and knew that Jon and Arya were occupied at the moment, but figured they would appreciate the limo waiting for them when they surfaced back into reality.   


	5. People Like Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was her ace in the hole, she would say this, he would be affected and then they would stop this nonsense. Or at least that was the plan.

The driver looked foreign, but weren’t they all now?  Sansa wasn’t sure; she hadn’t ridden in a taxi in years.  Petyr always made sure she was taken care of whenever she hadn’t planned anything herself.  And before that, the Hound wouldn’t allow his girl out and about in a cab.  He was highly concerned with status.  Sansa smiled, thinking of how he met his end.  

Despite being lost in her thoughts, she couldn’t not notice how the driver stared at her through the rearview mirror.  The drive felt twice as long as she glanced every few seconds to him watching her.  As they pulled up to the gates of her home he stopped the car and asked nervously if she would like him to drive her up to the door.  Sansa knew better than to allow a common man access past the gates.  She politely declined and as she paid the fair he looked up at her through the rearview mirror and apologized, “I’m so sorry but I have to ask--are you _Sansa Baelish_?  Is this really Littlefinger’s house?”  

Sansa blinked surprised.  

He continued, “I just want to say thank you, you two have really helped around here, businesses are taking off, the money is flowing, thank you.”

Sansa wanted to bask in the praise and take credit as it was due, but she knew it wasn’t safe so she smiled as she handed him cash, “I wish I could say I was Sansa Baelish, but my name is Alayne.”  

He shrugged, and smiled embarrassed over being mistaken.  She opened the door and stepped out, punching the code to the gate to allow it to open for her. As she climbed up the paved hill she considered how in over two years time she had never walked through the gate before, she had always been driven in and out of their estate.  Sansa approached her door and punched in another code to get in.  She would have thought Petyr was overdoing it with the home security if she didn’t know better.  But she did, and she took comfort in his precautions.  

As she entered their home she looked for him and was saddened to not see him yet.  She stripped herself of all her clothes and climbed into bed to wait for him.  His message from earlier had said that he was on his way, so she hoped it wouldn’t be a long wait.  And then she closed her eyes.  

The next morning, Sansa rolled out of bed and pulled her short silk periwinkle robe on, quietly creeping out of the bedroom.  Petyr was sleeping on his stomach, one foot hanging off the side of the bed, dead to the world.  Sansa smiled at his mussed up hair as she quietly latched the door shut behind her.  

She padded barefoot down the hallway to the kitchen.  Rays of morning sunshine reached across the tile and warmed her feet as she filled the coffee pot with water and poured it into the machine.  She pressed the button that would create the delicious nectar of the gods she required to open her eyes more than a squint.  

As it percolated, Sansa stood at the sink and looked out the window at their backyard.  She silently startled and scooted away from the window to avoid being seen by Jon, who was sauntering back to the guesthouse where he lived.  He carried his coat in a fist at his side, and his shirt was untucked hanging loosely over his belt.  

Sansa beamed at him without his knowledge and shifted back to the coffeemaker, avoiding the window.  She poured herself a cup and suddenly felt Petyr’s nose in her hair behind her, “Mm, smells good.  The coffee too.”  

Sansa smiled in response to both the feel of him against her and the warm sound of his voice filling her ears.  She poured creamer in her coffee and felt him hard against her ass, “You’re _up_.”  

“I’m awake all over, if that’s what you’re implying.  Someone was asleep when I got home last night.”  Petyr dipped his head down and kissed Sansa’s shoulder.  

She lifted her cup and took a sip of her coffee as he kissed her.  “I was naked and ready for you, it’s not my fault you took too long to come home to your willing wife.”  

His hands slid over the smooth material and gripped both of her breasts firmly as he grinded into her and spoke, “ _Was_ ready?”

She set her coffee down, careful not to spill it’s hot contents.  She pushed back into him and decided to play along, “Yes.  I’m not sure that I am anymore.”  

Petyr let go of her breasts and untied her robe, letting it hang open as he slid one hand down, reaching for her sex.  He grinned into her ear, “For someone who’s not ready, you’re awfully wet, my _willing wife_.”  

Sansa closed her eyes and held her breath at his massaging touch.  He held one hand on her stomach as he let the other slide around her nub.  Sansa felt locked in place, between him and the counter, his hand a stabilizing force.  Her nipples rubbed against the silk fabric and ached to be touched.  She felt mildly irritated that his hand wasn’t leaving her belly, so she guided it up to her breast.  He massaged and gently tugged for a short while before he settled it back on her stomach and continued to kiss the side of her neck.  

Sansa felt the sensation building in her and she turned into him, pulling his fingers from her and his hand from her abdomen.  She grabbed his face and kissed him deeply and passionately, her robe hanging open to him.  He slid his hands under the material, one arm gathering her close to him and the other sliding down to grip one of her cheeks.  She felt his erection through his cotton lounge pants pressing against her sensitive core.  

He turned her to an empty space of counter and backed her up against it as he kissed her frequently and deeply.  She smiled as she realized he had her pinned again so she bit his chin gently.  He laughed at her aggressiveness and grabbed her hips.  Suddenly, he lifted her and set her on the counter.  

Sansa pulled him in between her legs, wrapping them around him, locking him in place.   _Who’s caught now?_  She thought to herself happily.  

Petyr reached up and pulled the top of her robe down over her shoulders so that it hung from her elbows.  Sansa leaned forward and pulled the white cotton undershirt over Petyr’s head and flew for his scar, kissing it and tracing it with her tongue.  She could hear him hiss over her head as he reached down and gripped her hair, gently tugging her away to meet her lips in another deep wet kiss.  

When he pulled away from her mouth to trail kisses on her throat, Sansa pulled the waistband of Petyr’s pants down to free his cock.  She took hold of him and massaged as he moaned under her touch.  In the spirit of the spontaneity of the encounter, Sansa did not take too long teasing him before she lined him to her entrance.  

Petyr pulled his face up to look her directly in the eye with the warm grey-green pools of his as he slowly entered her.  Sansa inhaled at the feel of him filling more and more of her.  She shifted on the counter trying to get him to go faster, but he brought his hands down, clutching her hips to keep her from moving.  

Sansa chuckled slightly at his resistance and exhaled.  She cocked her head and furrowed her brow in curiosity, she was about to ask him why he wasn’t letting her move when he spoke, his eyes not leaving hers.  “Have you taken your pill yet today?”  

Sansa blinked back at him, confused as to why he would bring that up at a moment like this.  “No.  But I can after.  I have time.”  

She felt Petyr gradually recede inside of her, and as he pushed back in just as slowly, he replied, “You don’t have to.”

“What?”  Sansa didn’t understand what he was saying.  

He let go of her hips as he moved in and out of her, and brought his hands up to her face.  He kissed her, running his tongue over her bottom lip before capturing it and sucking on it gently.  She mewled into his kiss uncontrollably, and barely noticed when one hand dropped down and settled over her belly button as he pulled from her lips, “I’m saying, we could let whatever happens, happen.”  

Sansa still didn’t understand.  She wasn’t sure if it was the pleasurable sensation that was washing over her with the motion between them or if it was the introduction of a topic that had never been discussed before.  It was something that she did not see coming.  She almost whispered, “A _baby?_ ”  

He chuckled, “I’m told that’s how children start out.”  

“Children?!”  She exclaimed and her legs unwrapped themselves from around him and dropped to hang over the edge of the counter on either side of his.  

Petyr reached up to hold her jaw, as he deepened his thrusts into her.  The way her legs hung changed the position of her pelvis and she could feel him in deeper.  Judging by the way he adjusted his thrusts, he could feel the difference as well.  He kissed her to bring her back to him and as her eyes fluttered open to see his greedy smile, he purred over her lips, “Haven’t you ever thought of them?”  

“No.”  Her response was cold and automatic.  “That’s not something I thought we could have.”  

Petyr slid on hand down to her hip and gripped as he bucked into her firmly, “Oh, I’m positive we are _capable._ ”  

Sansa smiled despite herself, and spoke as she exhaled, “That’s not what I mean.  I just didn’t think kids were for _people like us._ ”  

Petyr bucked into her again with the beginnings of a scowl, “What do you mean, people like us?”  

Sansa sighed and looked away.  Petyr cupped one of her breasts and ran his thumb over her nipple, “What do you mean, Sansa?”  

She bit her lip at the sensation and the persistent way with which he chased her for an answer, “Petyr, we’re not exactly PTA or Cub Scout Leader material.”  

Petyr laughed unabashed and she frowned at him.  He reached down and caught her nipple in his mouth, swiping his tongue over it and sucking gently.  She arched back reflexively as she moaned and slid her hand up his neck, cradling the back of his head and threading her fingers through his hair.  She breathed, “I...mean...it.”  

He picked up his head and trailed kissed from her breast up her neck and caught her earlobe in his mouth.  He grazed his teeth over it before whispering, “I think you’d make a hot Den Mother.”  

She smacked him on the shoulder.  “I’m being serious.”  

He kissed her cheek, “Mm, so am I.”  

She wanted to hit him more for starting this conversation in such a compromising position.  She was trying to be serious and he was being flirtatious.  He knew that as he was inside her, she would be compelled to stay put and listen to whatever he had cooking up in that brain of his.  “You’re playing dirty, Petyr.”  

“It’s the only way I know.”  He smiled as he let his hands slide down to her thighs, massaging and gripping them for support.  

Sansa decided to fight dirty herself and say something to get him out of the mood so that he would stop and she wouldn’t continue to fall prey to his effect on her.  “We can’t have children because we aren’t good people.”  She pulled his face close to hers, looking him directly in the eye as she whispered, “We _kill_ people.”  

Petyr stilled inside of her and blinked back.  His hands rose, gripping both of hers and he kissed each of her palms as a laugh which started as a soft rumble and turned into a loud chuckle escaped him.  

“What’s so funny?” She asked in annoyance.  This was her ace in the hole, she would say this, he would be affected and then they would stop this nonsense.  Or at least that was the plan.    

Petyr leaned in and started slowly thrusting his pelvis into her again as he kissed her.  When he pulled away, he maintained his smile as he shook his head and said, “Well, we wouldn’t kill _them_.”  

Sansa would have exclaimed over the word, _them_ , if she didn’t instantly get a disturbing memory flash before her of a dead infant face down in it’s own blood.  Sansa stilled and felt a wave of nausea hit her at the memory of seeing such a small vulnerable form lifeless, at her command.  It was unintentional, but she was responsible all the same.  She thought of the mother and her inability to protect her young and Sansa felt her throat tighten as she considered how that would rip her open.  The air caught in her lungs and she couldn’t breathe.  

“Sansa.”  His voice sounded so far away.  “Sansa, where did you go?”  His touch felt so faint.  “Sansa, breathe.”  

She blinked, pulling out of her horrible memories.  Petyr’s eye brows were wrinkled in concern as he searched her face.  He asked, “Did I do something wrong?”

Brought back to reality, feeling the storm of emotions that took over her, Sansa raged inside of herself.  She needed something to ground her again, help to remind her how she felt normally.  She didn’t want to lose herself in the awful feeling she felt whenever she was reminded of that time.  Sweet love making or thoughtful caresses wouldn’t do it.  She needed _force._ “Fuck me.”  

“What?”  He looked curiously back at her.  “Are you alright?”  

Sansa reached forward and bit his bottom lip.  “If you don’t fuck me, I’m going to fuck you.”  

Petyr’s hands flew to her waist and he pumped up into her.  With an edge to his voice he asked, “Is this what you need from me?”  

“Yes.”  She brought her hands to his back and scratched her nails on his flesh before she reached down and bit his chest.  

Petyr dug his fingers into her skin and increased his pace in response.  Sansa spread her thighs wider, and pushed her feet flat against the cupboards below, which tilted her pelvis more for him.  He moaned at the angle and bucked up into her.  

Sansa felt her breasts slap against his chest and moved her hands so that one gripped his shoulder and the other reached behind her, bracing herself on the counter as she rocked back onto him.  She kept hearing a banging sound and realized that his knees were hitting the cupboard.  She didn’t care how uncomfortable that must have been for him, not in that moment.  Sansa needed more.  

“Deeper!”  She commanded as she arched.  He groaned and shifted as much as he could.  Sansa realized that he couldn’t do much more in their position so she huffed in irritation, “Fine, I’ll do it myself.”  

Sansa pushed him away and hopped off the counter.  She walked past him and was caught in his arms as he kissed and gripped and bit.  “Harder!”  She commanded as she turned into him, scratching her fingernails over his nipple.  

He growled back at the sensation and clamped both hands down on her ass, squeezing both cheeks in an iron grip.  She laughed as he lifted her off the ground and nipped at her clavicle.  She grabbed him by his hair and pulled his head back so she could cover his mouth with hers.  She pushed forward into him with all of her strength and he lost his footing, staggering backwards.  He struggled to steady himself and she ripped her lips from his enough to direct him, “Fall.”  

Petyr looked confused for a moment before he understood and he allowed himself to sink to the floor.  Within milliseconds, Sansa was on top of him, impaling herself on his cock.  He coughed in surprise at how quickly and completely he was encased by her.  She grinned as she rode him fast and hard, bracing herself on his abs as she smacked against him.  She watched Petyr breathe heavy under her ministrations.  

She wanted to be rough and dirty and awful and and…  Sansa looked down at him, looking back up at her, adoring her with his eyes.  He was giving her what she said she needed, without question or hesitation.  He met her where she was at and offered her everything he had.  She started to slow down, feeling appreciative of her husband’s devotion to her.  Sansa picked her hands up off of his stomach and started to rub herself against him as she slid down his length.  

Petyr smiled, “There you are again.”  His hands traveled her sides to cup her breasts, “Your mind took you away.”  

Sansa reached for one of his hands and pulled it to her face.  She turned and kissed the inside of his palm, “You were right there with me.”  

“You can’t keep me away.”  He held her face as his other hand reached to the red thatch of hair that covered her sex.  He let his thumb dip in between her lips and she shuddered at his touch.  

Sansa let go of his hand and felt it run over her breast before it settled over her stomach as he spoke, “I didn’t mean to upset you.  I just wanted to let you know that I’m ready when you are.  Give it some thought.”  

Sansa almost winced at the phrase _give it some thought_ as he did not know what she was thinking about, but felt a wave of pleasure wash over her as his hand dropped to join the other and massage her nub masterfully.  

She rocked languidly on top of him on the kitchen floor and not having anything to grip she ran her hands in her own hair as her eyes fluttered closed.  She cleared her mind of everything but the feel of Petyr and the sound of his pleasure below her.

Sansa felt all the pressure buildup and release inside of her as his fingers relentlessly massaged her.  She cried out as she spasmed on top of him and barely noticed his legs draw up behind her before he tilted his hips up as far off of the ground as they would go.  He spasmed back up into her, letting his own guttural moan escape.  

They stayed like that for a moment, Sansa feeling Petyr inside of her slowly return to his normal size.  Finally Petyr let his legs drop and he sat up as far as he could with Sansa on top of him.  She realized his physical limitation and shifted herself to stand up but he stopped her as he sat up fully, crossing his legs.  He pulled her down into his lap and she curled her legs around him.  He hugged her close.  “Will you tell me about it?”

Sansa sighed into his embrace, “I thought about the picture again.”  

“Oh.”  Petyr acknowledged.  She felt him stroke her hair as he spoke over her shoulder, “It was truly awful.  And not a bit your fault.”  He kissed her ear and continued, “You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for some idiot’s depravity.”  

Sansa nodded, “I know.”  

Petyr pulled the robe that had been hanging off of her loosely, up to cover her back protectively and rubbed circles over it, “That would never happen to us.”  

“I know.”  She replied, more so to please him.  Something awful like that could happen to anyone who upset the wrong person.  

Petyr pulled away just far enough to bore into her with his mossy green eyes, “If you don’t want to have a child, that’s okay.  But do not deny us parenthood because you are scared.”

Sansa felt a smile threaten to come out, “I’m not _scared._ ”  

“Good.  Because you and I are the most powerful people in the city.  We control half of it--double what any other family does.  We can piss off who we want and they still can’t touch us.”  Petyr reasoned with her.  

Sansa allowed the smile she had been holding to spread across her lips, “I know that.”  

Petyr grinned back at her and squeezed her tighter, “That means you know that any child of ours will have the most powerful woman in the city as it’s mother.”  

Sansa kissed his cheek, “And the most powerful man as it’s father.”    

Petyr reached up and tilted her head down so that he could kiss her hairline before adding, “Think about this.  I will support whatever you decide.”

Sansa sighed happily at his warmth, though still felt uncomfortable with the idea of being responsible for something so precious and delicate dependent on her so completely.  This was definitely something that required thought.  

The sound of his voice, pulled her attention back to him, “And Sansa, I know that the city is calm now, but next time don’t take a cab.  Public transportation is never safe for _people like us._ ”  

Sansa smiled, “You were watching.”  She had known that he was in the beginning, for Starfall.  When she didn’t receive anymore texts from him, she thought he stopped paying attention.  She smiled now, realizing that she should have known better.    

“Of course.”  He nuzzled into her cheek.  

She ran her hand over the back of his head, “Why didn’t you come get me then?”  

Sansa felt him smile against her cheek, “I did.  Why do you think it took so long for the cab to get there?”  

She didn’t remember it taking that long for the cab to get there, but realized that in downtown cabs usually waited by clubs, often times showing up in five minutes or less.  She remained silent as he pressed a kiss to her cheek, “His name is Fogo.  I realized I couldn’t get to you any sooner so I sent him.”  

Sansa pulled away to look at him directly, “He asked about us...were you _testing_ me?”  

Petyr chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead, “No.  But if I was, you passed with flying colors, _Alayne.”_  He pulled a hand from her back and, slid it around to her front as he said, “Not everyone who works for us, knows that they do.”  His palm pressed against her belly button again as he spoke, “That’s how powerful we are.”  

    


	6. Close Consideration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr did not expect her to consider the matter for so long.

“Bring her in.  I’ll have a look myself.”  Petyr sighed, feeling restless.  Sansa was at Stark-Naked Art Gallery, working.  Or at least she said she was working, Petyr was starting to wonder what she really did there.  He had no doubt that she met with clients and arranged viewings as well as coordinated various purchases.  But surely, not _every_ day.  It was not like it was a major retail chain, how much business did she truly get?  He told himself that it could not have been enough to warrant her attention every single day.  He enjoyed the days she came to work with him.  He understood she needed to have her own space, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.    

Varys glided through the door, leading Daisy behind him.  She clutched her robe closed, tears ran her eyeliner in royal blue streaks down her cheeks.  She looked back at Varys, her eyebrows wrinkled as her lips quivered.  Varys closed the door behind him and spoke calmly, “Show him.”  

Daisy shook her head and clutched her robe tighter.  Petyr pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in annoyance.  He had been focused on Sansa, which was common for him, when Varys bothered him with work.  For the first time in a long while Petyr felt himself growing uneasy when he thought of his wife.  Weeks ago he had helped Sansa to realize her desire for children.  Or so he thought, anyway.  He gently guided her to the topic, expressed his willingness and confidence in the matter, and offered her the space to find her feelings and agree that she wanted to take this step too.  

That was _weeks_ ago.  Petyr did not expect her to consider the matter for so long.  He wondered if he had not presented as confidently as he thought he had, if he might not have assured her enough, or if perhaps his approach might have been wrong.  He chose to ask her during sex because of the strong emotional connection they felt when they were skin to skin.  Maybe she had disregarded his words as pheromone intoxicated ramblings.  

Real world distractions had become unforgivable irritants, as Petyr was pulled away from his thoughts to stare back at a quivering and reluctant Daisy standing before him.  He spoke without patience, “I pay you to strip.  Open your robe.”  

She bit her lip and looked back at Varys.  He nodded his head solemnly and crossed his arms on top of his big belly, a gesture of certainty.  She slowly opened her robed and revealed her naked form.  Petyr came out from around his desk and directed her to put her foot up on the chair.  He frowned and placed a hand on her thigh, spreading her open further.  She gasped at the contact and Petyr rolled his eyes as he crouched down closer to her sex.  

Daisy trembled under the microscope of his gaze and held back sobs.  Petyr cursed under his breath as he stared directly at the small grouping of red inflamed blisters around her opening.  Varys spoke as Petyr looked, “Most of it could stay hidden by her costume.”  

Petyr stood up and gestured for her to stand normally and cover herself.  He spoke to Varys as he squirted some hand sanitizer in his palm, “It’s too risky.  The later into the evening, the more likely someone will reach under her _costume_.”  

Varys lifted his chin, clearly unimpressed that his suggestion was rebuffed.  He attempted another, “We could use her in other ways?  Waiting the tables tonight instead of on stage.  We don’t need to lose money.”  

Petyr shrugged, “I got two years out of her.”  He squirted another dime sized amount of hand sanitizer in his palm again.  Even though he only touched her thigh, he felt as though he could not get clean enough after seeing the blisters.  

Daisy stood nervously clutching her robe.  Petyr looked back at her and clicked his tongue against his teeth as he shook his head, “You got careless, Daisy.  Thought you’d make extra cash going all the way with a few customers.  But you didn’t clear it through me, and you didn’t give me a cut.  I know because if you had included me, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Varys spoke surprisingly firm, “Herpes is not the end of the world.  She can still be useful.”  

Petyr raised his eyebrows at Varys in response to how moved he was on the stripper’s behalf and then chuckled softly.  “No, it is not.  But each time you have an outbreak, you’re of no use to me, and you’re a liability.  I can not risk a customer getting an STD from one of my girls; it’s bad for business.”

Daisy looked over at Varys, though he did not offer her any defense.  At the mention of business, Varys conceded.  There were times that Petyr thought Varys only understood things if put in business terms.  Petyr opened his desk drawer and pulled out a business card for a gynecologist, “Make an appointment for yourself.”  

She grinned widely from ear to ear and began thanking Petyr profusely.  Varys cocked an eyebrow at him in question as Petyr continued, “You’re welcome.  Now, clear out your locker.  You’re fired.”  

“Lots of strippers have herpes.”  Daisy stated, eyes wide, in disbelief.  

Petyr pulled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes as he replied, “Yes.  And they also know better than to lie to me.  If you were willing to do more than dance, all you had to do was tell me.”  

He glanced at Varys, who averted his eyes in submission.  Petyr leaned into her ear and said, “My wife showed you kindness when you began your career here, so I will show you kindness at the end.  Girls who lie to me do not live long, you are lucky that Sansa favored you.”  

 _Sansa._  At his own mention of her, Petyr started thinking of her again.  How she looked in the morning sipping her coffee and smiling out the window at the birdhouse.  He thought of the little sigh she gave each time she set her keys in the dish by the front door and slid out of her heels.  He thought of the light rain smell she emitted as she rubbed lotion on her legs at night before they climbed into bed.  

As Daisy turned and scurried out of the office, Varys remained silently for a moment.  Petyr hardly noticed, thinking about how he wanted to feel his wife in his arms.  He had seen her that morning  before they both left for work but he couldn’t help missing her all the same.  Especially lately, where he didn’t know what was rolling around in her head.  She wasn’t distant by any means, but either she was not considering his words, or if she was, she was doing so entirely on her own.  How could he help her see what she wanted if she didn’t share with him what she was thinking?  How could he counter any internal conflict she had?  

Mildly aware that Varys remained, and mostly consumed by thoughts of Sansa, Petyr sighed, “Yes, Varys?”  

“Tyrion Lannister is here.”  Varys spoke evenly.  

Petyr picked his head up and looked at Varys, “Do we know what his visit is in regards to?”  

“No.  The Lannisters are calm at this time.  No distribution issues that we are aware of.  No major events, just murmurings of a wedding for a lower level family member.”  Varys ran through his most current Lannister intel.  

Petyr nodded and started for the door, “Where is he now?”  

“Your favorite booth, with a bottle of _Family Reserve.”_  Varys followed him out of the office and then went his own separate way.  

Petyr walked down the hallway out into the open room and saw Tyrion sitting off to the side in a high-back booth, watching the girls work.  He smiled when he spotted Peyr coming towards him and said, “I always look for you at the Mockingbird first, but I have to admit, I always prefer it when I find you here.”  

Petyr smiled at Tyrion as he grinned and gestured to the women dancing in front of him.  “Looking for me?  Up there?  Really?”  

Tyrion laughed as he looked between Petyr and the stage.  Petyr continued with his teasing, “I know that I’m attractive, but I have to be honest, I’ve never been one for the limelight.”  

Tyrion continued to laugh as Petyr sat down in the booth opposite him.  Tyrion poured Petyr a drink as he leaned in and said, “You may have missed your calling.”  

Petyr took a swig of his drink and smiled at the women dancing in front of him.  “No, I don’t think so.  I was always destined for management.”

Tyrion smiled warmly, “Two left feet?”  

“Yes.”  Petyr smiled sarcastically back at him, “Because this is the type of dancing that requires you to have grace and coordination.”  

“You mean, they aren’t all aspiring dancers?”  Tyrion made a face of mock surprise. “No Juilliard waitlisters?”  

Petyr chuckled back and looked down at his phone as it alerted him to a text message from Sansa, _Will you be home for dinner?  Or should I bring it to you?_

He smiled at her thoughtfulness.  He had not necessarily felt distant from her since that morning in the kitchen, weeks ago, as life continued as it had over the past couple years.  Petyr had however, felt as though his wife was not as open of a book as he had thought, and therefore started to wonder what to expect from her.  He knew he was being dramatic, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed.  He knew part of it was that she didn’t instantly agree, but it was more so that she didn’t discuss her thoughts with him.

He typed back, _Are you home already?_  He looked up from his phone and smiled at Tyrion, “Apologies, Sansa has me slightly distracted.”  

Tyrion smiled knowingly, “Wives have a sixth sense for when their husbands eyes are roaming.”  

Petyr glanced up at the filipina girl in the neon orange g-string and clear plastic heels.  He tried for a moment to remember her name, and couldn’t, she was one of Varys’ hires.  She was attractive, but not his cup of tea.  He knew he would have to fake some sort of arousal for Tyrion to feel comfortable talking with him.  Petyr knew that Tyrion couldn’t understand being so completely and utterly devoted to one woman such that any other just felt like filler, mere imitations of the real thing.    

Trying to pull together some sort of enthusiasm for the women on display in front of him, he glanced across to the left stage as he recognized the blue sailor costume on the platinum blond with the small ass.  He smiled as he remembered Sansa modeling that for him privately, and how well _her ass_ had filled it out.  She picked out a lot of the costumes and he often was able to convince her to model them under the pretense of seeing whether or not they would be effective with a male audience.  Sansa would model, but declined to dance.  She playfully teased him telling him that she would strip once he got a pole for their bedroom.  Little did she know, he had one in his shopping cart for a while, and was just looking for a good opportunity to click, _purchase._

His grin must have grown because Tyrion laughed and shook his head as he poured another drink, “I don’t know if you are the luckiest man alive or the unluckiest--being surrounded by tits and ass every day.”  

Petyr slid his glass over indicating another refill as he held up his phone.  “No good thing goes unpunished.”  

Tyrion filled Petyr’s glass and laughed.  “Now, now, Baelish.  If your wife is a punishment, there are a lot of men who would line up to take their penance.”  

A prickling sensation ran through Petyr as he stilled, all muscles flexed.  He maintained his smile, though his eyes became piercing, as his voice deepened in warning, “Careful now.”  

Tyrion’s eyebrows shot up and he shook his head.  “I meant no offense.”  

Petyr felt the heat release from under the collar of his shirt as he shifted in his seat, trying to cool himself down.  He knew that Tyrion was not a threat; there was no need to become so affected.  He relaxed the muscles in his arms and made it a point to slouch back in his seat to display ease.  “What brings you to my little establishment?”  

Tyrion pulled a golden envelope out of his breast pocket and extended it as far across the table as he could reach.  Petyr closed the gap and retrieved it, opening it to reveal a wedding invitation.  Tyrion narrated, “It’s for Kevan’s son, Lancel.  He’s marrying some Frey girl.  God, that family has a lot of daughters.  I mean, I respect religious views and everything, but at a certain point it’s just unhealthy.”  

Petyr smirked at the idea of Lancel getting married off to a Frey girl, he was young and cocky and needed to be reminded of his place in the world.  Petyr knew that he had approached Sansa on Arya’s twenty-first birthday, but he didn’t know exactly what was said as Sansa never spoke about it with him.  All he knew was what people had told him, which was that he had kept his hands to himself.  Petyr couldn’t fault the man for admiring her beauty, if Petyr were going to maim and kill any man who noticed that she was beautiful, there would be no men left in the world.  Hearing that he was relegated to a Frey, on the other hand, felt just.  “Kevan must be _pleased_.”  

Tyrion rolled his eyes and took another gulp, “I find parents are often disappointed in their children.”  

“He _wants_ to marry a Frey?”  Petyr did not have to fake the surprise in his voice.  

Tyrion let out a loud laugh and clutched his stomach, “Of course not.  But the idiot boy knocked her up.  Normally this wouldn’t matter, but you know the Freys.  Jaime told Lancel he had to marry the girl so he wouldn’t have to hear Walder pissing and moaning in his ear.  Kevan reasoned that it made sense to stay friendly with the Freys, as our friendship is often so... _tentative._ ”  

Petyr smiled and nodded his head, “He’s a crazy old bastard, but he’s the only way across the bridge.  He makes everyone a lot of money.”  

Tyrion smiled and nodded, “Which is why Jaime finally agreed to give him a Lannister, however lower on the totem pole he may be.”  

Petyr knew that Jaime had been keeping his own children away from the Frey children for years, in hopes to stay the least involved with Walder as he could.  Petyr considered the issue and if Jaime had to give up one of his family, Lancel was not a major loss.  Kevan on the other hand, was a different matter.  Petyr considered how strained the cousins relationship must be over this and wondered how he might use that to his advantage should he need to.  His phone buzzed, _I just finished at the range with Arya, and I’m on my way home now._

Petyr responded, _I’m finishing up at Unveiled, I’ll be home soon._ He read the gold lettering across the invitation as he spoke to Tyrion, “Four weeks is not a lot of notice for a wedding.”  

Tyrion brought his cup to his mouth as he played aloof, “It isn’t?”  

Petyr chuckled, “One might think that it’s become a Lannister trait to send late invitations.”

Tyrion gave a nervous smile and shook his head, “It’s entirely my fault.  I was caught up and did not deliver on time, please do not allow my mistake to be a reflection on my brother or his wife.”  

Petyr’s voice became deep in warning as he continued, “No need for excuses.  Just know that giving invitations late is a very rude practice.  I believe my wife advised Cersei of this weeks ago in regards to the Tyrells.  I understand her _history_ with them and Jaime’s encouragement of her consistent disrespect.  Though, _we_ are not in the same league, and it is offensive to be treated as such.”  

Tyrion nodded gravely.  “I understand and I agree.”  

Petyr pocketed the invitation and maintained his gaze at Tyrion as he spoke again, “Please understand, Baelish, we can not always pick the caliber of people we must associate with.”  

Petyr understood that well.  He sighed thinking of how difficult his life may be if he were related to Cersei--not that Jaime was the easiest to get along with either.  His decisions were at times questionable and Petyr often held the belief that without Tyrion there to guide him, he may not be as great as he was.  Petyr slid out of the booth and looked down at Tyrion, “We will attend.  Sansa and I understand the importance of respect.”  

He did not look back at Tyrion as he walked away, merely gestured for Varys to attend to him.  Petyr left Unveiled out the back door and climbed in his Lexus and drove away thinking about meeting Sansa once he got home.  He felt that her asking about dinner was cute as she did not cook; he did.  But they had people for that sort of thing when he was occupied.  He drove through their gates thinking about the few times she had tried cooking and needed him to step in and carry a smoking pan out to the patio.  He found her frustration and failed efforts adorable.  

As he walked in the front door, the smell of roasted chicken filled his nostrils and he smiled at the sound of her voice singing along to the music piping through the speakers.  He had gotten her some blutooth speakers for the kitchen to play her music and was happy to see her using them.  He crept in quietly, following the sound of her voice towards the kitchen, hiding himself to one side of the door frame as he snuck a peek of her shimmying around the kitchen to the beat of the music.  

He felt himself twitch in his pants at the beauty she emanated when she didn’t know she was being watched.  Suddenly her phone rang through the speakers and startled her, Petyr put his hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh as he watched her clutch her chest and listened to the sound of her sister Ayra’s voice sounding over the speakers, “Sans, you forgot your Glock at the range.  Don’t worry, I pocketed it.”  

Sansa picked up her phone and must have clicked out of blutooth because he didn’t hear Arya’s voice anymore.  He did hear Sansa’s, “Yeah, I’ve been _distracted._  It’s not your concern.  I know.  I will tell him when I’m ready.  Arya, stop being so nosey.  He’s _my_ husband, you know.  I will tell him when it’s right, I don’t know anything for sure right now anyway.”  

That peaked his curiosity.  What had the sisters been discussing at the range?  He listened further and heard Sansa ending the conversation, “Of course, as soon as I know.”  

He waited out of sight as he watched her put her music back on and resume her singing.  After what seemed like a long enough time he slowly approached, careful not to make a sound as he came up behind her.  She was at the sink washing some dishes.  He wanted to tell her that they had people for that, but he knew that she sometimes sent them home early and dealt with more minor tasks like a couple of dishes in the sink herself.  For as stealthy as he thought he was being, he had not considered the kitchen window.  She glanced up into the dark window and he almost didn’t catch her arm as it swung around with paring knife in it.  

Adrenaline coursed through them both as they stood stuck in that position, chests thumping with the labored breaths of their fight or flight efforts.  Very slowly, Petyr let go of her arm and she slowly lowered it, both smiling knowingly at each other.  Petyr spoke, “My fierce wife.”  

They both started laughing, allowing the release of energy into the air.  She curled into him, sliding her arms around him, “I only saw the outline of someone, I didn’t know it was you.”  

“I hope not.”  He grinned as he kissed her ear through her hair and offered long strokes down her spine.  Reflexively, he allowed his hand to wander further down.  

Sansa laughed, “Save that for later.  I want to hear about your day.”  

Petyr furrowed his eyebrows in curiosity.  Sansa didn’t normally turn down a moment to be intimate.  They always talked after, it’s not as if she needed to know anything right away.  He wondered for a moment if her putting him off had to do with whatever her and Arya were talking about.  In fact, he was starting to want to hear about her day.  He let go and walked over to the table, sitting in a chair as he watched her bend down and pull a chicken out of the oven.

Was she actually cooking this?  He glanced over her back to read the setting on the stove, _Keep Warm._  Ok, the cook must have set it in there for her and she just needed to keep it going.  That made more sense to him.  He smiled as she carried it to the table and handed him a carving knife.  He spoke as he watched her pull plates down and load them with vegetables and potatoes, “Daisy’s got herpies.”  

Sansa offered a slight frown as she set the plates down, “I thought you screened the men.”  

“She went around my back.”  Petyr placed some chicken on her plate before his.  

Sansa sighed and her jaw tightened.  “I see.”  

Her disappointment did not go unnoticed.  Petyr also noted her acceptance at the probability that Daisy was dead for her dishonesty.  He decided to reward her for being so understanding, “I only fired her, because of your fondness for the girl.”  

Sansa’s face brightened and she reached in the drawer for utensils.  “I appreciate your consideration, Petyr.”  She made it a point to lean over him to place his utensils on the other side of his plate to allow him a generous view of her cleavage.  

His hand rested on her thigh as she straightened herself and smiled down at him.  He looked up at her unsuspectingly as he asked, “How about you?  Anything eventful today?”  

She stilled for split second, her eyes dilating as she lied, “Not really.  Worked a little, saw Arya, as you know.”  

“How is she?”  Petyr asked, not allowing Sansa to escape the subject of her day.  

“Good.  I forgot my Glock, so I’ll have to get it from her some time.”  Sansa noticed his hand still on her thigh, and she reached out, holding and rubbing his shoulder. She leaned back down towards him, offering a quick kiss.  

As she pulled away, Petyr held her in place and pulled her face back to his, kissing her slowly and deeply, insisting on more passion from her.  She smiled, eyes lazy and drunk on his affection as the kiss ended, “Your food is going to get cold.”  

“You’re warm, perhaps I should eat you.”  He teased her.  

She swatted at him playfully and pulled away.  “If you eat all your dinner like a good boy.”    

Petyr disliked the distance of her sitting in her chair, especially since he knew she was keeping a secret, and willing to lie to keep it.  He reminded himself that she told Arya that she would tell him at some point.  He convinced himself not to get ruffled over the small lie as she would reveal everything in due time.  Though, he did not know the size of the secret that accompanied the lie.  Realizing that the silence had grown, he added, “The Lannisters have invited us to a wedding in four weeks.”  

“That’s short notice.”  She observed as she took a bite of chicken.  

“That’s what I told them.”  Petyr smiled at their shared thought.  He continued, “It’s for Lancel.”  

Petyr noticed the way she silently registered where she knew the name from.  When she didn’t respond he added, “He’s marrying some Frey girl.” 

Sansa laughed, “Does she have a name?”  

“Does she need one?”  Petyr asked, wondering why Sansa would care.  He put the lesser Lannister down, “The idiot knocked her up and has to marry her now.”  

Sansa looked down at her plate for a moment and Petyr noticed what looked like sadness in her eyes.  He wanted to question her about it but decided not to, unsure if it had anything to do with this secret she was keeping from him.  He told himself that she sounded happy when she spoke to Arya on the phone, and that not all secrets were bad ones.  Before he took a bite of chicken he said, “I told them we would attend.”

“Of course.”  She responded.  She smiled warmly at him as she continued, “We know how to show respect.”  

Petyr grinned from ear to ear at how attuned they were.  “I said the same.”  

Sansa smiled back at him.  “I missed you today.”  

“Really?”  He asked, a little taken off guard by her unsolicited affection.  “You weren’t too busy to think of me?”  

She smiled back at him.  “You always find a way into my thoughts.”  


	7. Lines of Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He won’t help you; he wanted to kill you. I’m helping you.

Petyr stared down at the birth control package in his hand.  He read and re-read the words printed on the back prescribing it to Sansa Baelish to take one tablet daily for contraception.  He was barely aware of the maid that had given it to him; she shifted uncomfortably fixing her hair, a faded red in color.  

Slowly, a grin formed on his face as he noted that only the first few pills in the first week had been popped out.  He started counting back the days in his mind, and realized quickly that she hadn’t taken a single one since that morning in the kitchen.  Seeing her immediate response to his encouragement warmed his heart.  

The maid cleared her throat, no doubt waiting to be excused.  She spoke in conclusion, “I thought it my duty to report this to you.  A man should know what his wife is up to.”  

Petyr looked up, noticing the nervous-looking woman who so bravely approached him with the discarded pills moments before.  She shied away from his undivided attention as he asked, “And do you let my wife know what her husband is up to?”  

“No, Mr. Baelish.  Nothing like that!”  She shook her head violently.  

Petyr cocked his head, “Don’t you think she should know?  You think  _ I _ should know her affairs, after all.”  

The woman froze, silent, clearly unsure of what to say next.  Petyr recognized her wide-eyed fearful look as he had seen it on people who stood before him so many times.  He smiled and held up the pill package, “You’ve proven your loyalty in bringing this to me.”  

She nodded timidly and offered a shaky smile.  Petyr continued, “But you’ve also proven your disloyalty to my wife.”    

Silence shrouded the room as the woman stared ahead, too scared to admit the truth or try futilely to deny it.  Petyr considered killing her for betraying Sansa, an offense to her was an offense to them.  He tried to think of how many people were on the estate at that time, if they had the clean up materials or if he would have to bring someone to bag up the mess.  He couldn’t focus, running his fingers over the nubs of the pill pack, wanting only to get to Sansa.  He finally gave up trying to solve this dilemma and paused the conversation, needing to face Sansa with his new knowledge.  He put the maid off, “I will allow her to decide your disciplinary action.  Wait here.”  

Petyr left the room and had to tame the bounce in his step and ignore the ache in his face from smiling as he sought his wife.  Sansa was in their bedroom, standing in front of the full length mirror, fixing one of her earrings.  Her reflection smiled at him as her fingers worked.  He closed the door behind him and spoke as he strode over to her, “You’ve been keeping a secret from me.”  

She smiled back, not denying what he said.  He shook his head in excitement, “And I know what it is.”  

Sansa’s hands dropped as she stared back at him seriously, “Which one?”  

_ What?! _  Petyr’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.  She didn’t miss the look or the meaning behind it as she chuckled, “You like that I keep you guessing.  Well?  What do you know?”  

Petyr pulled the birth control out of his pocket and held it up to her, waiting for her to react over being discovered.  She looked down at the package and she smirked.   _ She smirked?! _  He didn’t understand her calm response.  He was delighted that she wanted to try for children, why was she not as excited as him?  Petyr reasoned that it could be because this was not news to her, she had been decided for  _ weeks _ .  He thought if nothing else, she would be animated over having been caught.  She light being caught as much as he liked catching.  But a smirk was not exactly jovial...

Sansa turned back into the mirror, smoothing her dress over her body and asked, “Which maid gave it to you?”  

“The redhead.”  Petyr answered without thinking, watching her preen in the mirror with a self-satisfied grin.  He started to feel as though he was missing something.  

“Ros.”  Sansa acknowledged.  

“Sure.”  Petyr waved off the name, realizing slowly that he had not told her that a maid had given it to him.  “Sansa, how did you know that I got this from a maid?”  

“Because I put it in the bin in my office so that only our staff would see it.”  She turned back to him with a smile, “Unless you are saying that you go through the trash in my office?”  

Petyr scowled back at her and rolled his eyes at the very suggestion.  She turned back to the mirror and continued speaking.  “I decided not to dispose of it until I was ready to tell you so that I could figure out which staff could be trusted and which ones could not.”  

Petyr felt the wheels in his head turning as he figured out what she was telling him.  She told him she wanted to try for a baby, while at the same time using the opportunity to sniff out moles in the house.  His mouth twitched in appreciation of her beautiful mind, “I told her that you would be deciding her punishment and made her wait in my office until we are ready to see her.”  

Sansa smiled and turned back to him, “Why would I punish her for her loyalty to you?”  

Petyr cocked his eyebrow, “Because I would have her punished for her disloyalty to you.”  

Sansa laughed and ran her hands over his chest, finally letting them rest on his shoulders, “So then this was an important test.”  

Petyr rested his hands on her hips, slowly pulling her up against him, “And why are you testing the staff?”

“Because, Petyr,”  She sighed as she looked back at him, “Right now, I need to know where the lines of loyalty lay.”  

He held up the birth control package between them, “Because of this?”  

She nodded and then pressed her lips against his, urging them to open to her.  Petyr felt a tingling sensation in his pants and before he could do more, she gently pulled away.  He swallowed and asked in a husky voice, “Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

Sansa smiled again, “I didn’t know at first.  I just kept not taking them as I thought about it.  And then I wanted to wait until I had a great way to tell you that I was ready.”  

Petyr smiled thinking of Ros waiting anxiously in the other room and realized that this was the perfect way to tell him.  No other woman would have thought to share this with him this way.  He let his hands slide down to her ass and squeezed as he thought about how anxious he was to start trying.  

Sansa laughed and reached down to his hands, prying them off of her as she reminded him, “There’s no time for that, we still have dinner with the boys tonight.”  

_ The Tyrells. _  Petyr grimaced at the thought of being around them when he would rather be deep into his wife instead.  It was nothing against them, it was simply that Petyr’s personal life was proving to be more interesting at the moment.  Sansa pulled away completely, “Can you get me my vitamin?”  

Petyr smiled at his wife’s self-discipline.  For as long as he had known her, she had taken a multivitamin daily, though she never seemed to have a problem getting it herself.  He cocked an eyebrow at her and she smiled back, urging him to go to their private bathroom.  As he walked through doorway, he heard her muffled voice, “I’ll get Ros--let’s get this over with.” 

Petyr sighed, feeling slightly annoyed.  After weeks of not knowing what she was thinking or where she stood, he finally knew.  She was willing.  She wanted it too.  They were in agreement, in tune to each other’s needs and desires.  And she wouldn’t let him scoop her up and rush his passion into her.   _ Because of staff performance issues, and dinner plans, and goddamned fucking vitamins. _  He begrudgingly opened the medicine cabinet and felt his eyes widen as he looked ahead.  Petyr gripped the cabinet door as he felt lightheaded and unsure of his footing.  

Sitting on the bottom shelf was a pink bottle of vitamins, the seal unbroken, with the title:  _ Prenatal Vitamins _ .  Laying in front was a pregnancy test with a light pink plus sign.  Petyr blinked, feeling all of his muscles flex in excitement.  He bit his fist to keep from calling out in joy.  He took a deep breath and stared ahead at the test as he hissed, “Yesss!”  

He gripped the counter, feeling potent and strong, planning how he would pounce her with his virility.  He heard muffled voices and realized that she had returned with the maid.  He took a breath, regaining his composure.  Why would Sansa bring her into their bedroom?  Petyr turned and walked out of the bathroom, vibrating with barely contained excitement.  

Sansa looked radiant, leaning back on their dresser as she directed her attention to the nervous maid in the center of the room.  Petyr stood in the doorway to their bathroom, staring past the woman to Sansa.  She smirked back at him, knowing the growing desire that brewed within him.  He dared not speak, hoping Sansa would do whatever she had planned to the woman so that he could do what he was planning to her.  

Sansa spoke, “My husband wants to kills you.”  

Petyr tried not to react outwardly at his surprise in her being so blunt.  He dipped his head and gave her a smoldering look as he waited to see where she was going with this.  Sansa had tact, there was a reason why she was being so vocal about the darker side of their business.  She smiled to the maid, “He’s utterly devoted to me, you see.  He won’t allow anyone around me who isn’t loyal, even just to do the dishes.”  

The fearful woman started to open her mouth to offer an excuse when Sansa cut her off, holding up her hand, “You know our intimate affairs.”  Ros clearly didn’t dare to speak again after being stifled.  After a brief moment of silence, Sansa held up the pill pack, “ _ And  _ you know that his reasons for keeping me safe and sound are only  _ growing _ .”   

The maid stood silently but Petyr saw a slight nod in acknowledgement.  He found himself nodding as well, enthralled by Sansa’s speech.  She was right, it was more important than ever to know who was an asset or liability.  Sansa set the package down and continued, “You, however, showed loyalty to my husband.”  She smiled warmly, and her voice softened, “For that, I would praise you.”  

The woman, wrapped her arms around herself.  Petyr would have thought she was bracing herself for whatever Sansa had to say next if he had been paying her much attention.  He was too busy listening to his wife’s words and the conviction with which she spoke them.  He slid one hand down to his thigh, gently gripping it in response to his inability to grip her.  He worked hard to restrain himself.  

“So there you have it.”  Sansa looked past the woman to Petyr behind her, “We are deadlocked in deciding your fate: both wanting only to protect the other.”  

Ros turned and noticed him for the first time.  Petyr took Sansa’s open acknowledgement of his presence in the room as an invitation to join her.  He strode across the room, not even glancing towards the maid as he passed.  He snuggled up beside Sansa, wrapping an arm around her waist, and kissing her shoulder.  

Sansa lifted her hand and set her palm on his cheek, petting him as she spoke, “So, rather than just killing you -- which is still a viable option.  I’ve decided to give you an opportunity.”  

Petyr picked his head up in question.  Sansa grinned, not looking at him as she spoke, “I can not trust you lurking about my house.  But you can use your observant eye to his benefit in one of his establishments.  You may keep your life for as long as you remain loyal to Petyr.”

There was silence in the air for a moment as her words resonated to everyone.  Ros spoke timidly, “I have waited tables before.”  

Sansa laughed out loud, “You don’t get off that easy.  You still betrayed me.  And that will not go unpunished.”  

Ros looked up her anxiously and Petyr found himself looking at her in question yet again.  Sansa spoke evenly, “Show me your tits.”  

Petyr felt himself stiffen in his pants.  He knew that Sansa wasn’t into women, and Ros paled in comparison to his wife, but he couldn’t deny the arousal he felt at hearing his wife direct the maid in such a way.  

Ros’ eyes widened in shock as she stammered, “Excuse me?”  

Sansa pushed up off of the dresser, leaving Petyr behind.  “Consider this your audition, Ros.”  She closed the gap between her and Ros and tugged at the woman’s shirt collar, “You are in luck, we’re down a stripper.  If you can demonstrate some potential, you can take her place.  If you don’t, you’re dead.  Now, take off your shirt.”  

Ros slowly unbuttoned her uniform and exposed her chest to Sansa, her bra barely covered her nipples.  Petyr adjusted his growing erection in his pants as his eyes followed the outline of Sansa’s form fitting dress while she crossed her arms and said, “Skirt too.”  

With trembling hands, Ros unzipped her skirt and let it fall.  Sansa chuckled, “Wow, a thong?  Really?  For cleaning toilets?”  She looked up at Petyr, her eyes sparkling, “Ros has got a naughty side.  Perhaps cleaning wasn’t her first career.”  

Petyr’s cheeks hurt from smiling back at her.  He loved the many faces of his wife, but he couldn’t hide the delight he took in her more ruthless moments.  

Ros folded her arms over her stomach uncomfortably and her mouth twitched nervously.  Sansa didn’t let up, “It’s okay, I get it.  Your ass is your best feature.  Your tits aren’t bad, but nothing to write home about.”  

Petyr watched Sansa circle the woman like a cat torturing a terrified mouse.  Sansa continued to poke at her, “You’re not exactly Biggest Loser-  _ fat. _  But strippers usually have more tone and less... _ overhang. _ ”  

Petyr was finding himself oddly aroused by the way Sansa shamed her.  Petyr understood the appeal of women of all shapes and sizes as men paid handsomely for a variety.  But this had nothing to do with whether or not Ros would earn good money based on her appearance, and had everything to do with how well his wife dominated and demeaned the woman.  Ros truly was paying for her betrayal, in a way that Petyr would not have ever thought of himself.  He grinned as he fully appreciated the show his wife was making of  _ breaking  _ the woman.  Sansa walked toward her purse and spoke over her shoulder, “You need to lose twenty pounds immediately.  Do you like bread?”  

Ros nodded her head, stifling back tears.  Sansa laughed and threw a protein bar at her, “Not anymore.”  

The maid caught it and looked back at Petyr, pleadingly.  Sansa followed her gaze and gave a throaty laugh, “He won’t help you; he wanted to kill you.   _ I’m  _ helping you.”  

Sansa pulled a remote that Petyr had never seen before out of her purse as she spoke, “I’m helping you  _ live _ by giving you an opportunity.  And I’m helping you to see what it feels like to cross me.  So that you never dare to do it again.”  

Ros nodded and cleared her throat, “Yes.”  

Sansa smiled, “I have a surprise for Petyr.”  

_ Another one? _  He thought to himself, not knowing if he could take anymore.  

Sansa laughed, “He’s been wanting this for a while, but for whatever reason, won’t treat himself to it.”  She moved to stand in front of him, giving him a flirtatious look as she spoke to Ros, “So, I did.”

Curiosity was killing him.  She was killing him.  She gave a naughty grin, “That’s what wives are for--knowing their husbands desires.”  She bit her bottom lip before finishing, “And giving it to them.” 

Sansa bent down allowing him a delicious view of her round ass, and pulled the area rug away to reveal a black square in the center of the floor.  Sansa pushed a button on the remote and slowly a shiny chrome colored pole rose out of the ground.  Another button piped music out of the surround sound speakers he had wired in their room, back before it was  _ their  _ room.  She grinned at him, “I had this installed a week ago.  I figured it would be a good workout to get my body back,  _ after. _ ”  

_ After she delivered the baby _ , he realized.  She was doing all of this in preparation to bring that life into the world.  Her cruelty to Ros eliminated the danger in their home and put it to better use elsewhere.  Sansa was cleaning house, one might even say,  _ nesting _ .  And judging by the pill pack, she had only just taken the test confirming their fate as parents and already she was vigilantly protecting the child with all of her power and might.  Petyr reminded himself that she had watched her husband kidnapped before her very eyes, unable to stop it.  She would take no chances in securing their baby's safety.    

Petyr’s cock strained against his pants and his arms reflexively reached for her in his blind desire to possess her.  She was the sexiest woman alive, her body perfect, her mind flawless, and her ability to surprise him unrivaled.  Motherhood suited her as her instincts were proving so sharp.  He wanted to rub himself all over her and stay by her side forever.  She turned away from his arms, teasing him with a devilish grin, “Ros, dance for us.  Let’s see what we have to work with.”  

The maid blinked back at her, uncertain.  Petyr’s nostrils flared in annoyance at this distraction.  He didn’t care to watch this nervous woman skid up and down a pole.  His agitation was calmed when he saw how happy Sansa looked as she watched the woman shake uncomfortably as she attempted to gyrate her body suggestively.  Sansa laughed at her openly but motioned for her to continue regardless.  Petyr needed to get closer, he needed to touch his vicious wife.  He sidled up to Sansa, pressing his erection into the side of her hip.

“Mm, Petyr.”  She acknowledged the feel of him against her.     

Ros wobbled awkwardly around the pole.  Petyr ran his hand over Sansa’s belly and chirped in her ear, telling her how beautiful she was.  Sansa grinned, picking up one hand to reach over and cup his cheek again as she stared ahead to Ros.  Petyr didn’t let go of her belly, but he did allow his other hand to slide down to her ass as he kissed her neck and continued to press himself into her side.  Sansa let out a small sigh of pleasure as she clicked a button on the remote and the pole slowly started retracting with Ros still on it.  

The woman lost her balance and stumbled on her feet a little as Sansa spoke to her, “You start at Unveiled tomorrow night.  If you do not show, I will assume you chose death.”  

Ros bent down to pick up her uniform, her expression was a mixture of fear and disgust.  Sansa let go of Petyr’s face and her hand dropped down to grip his thigh possessively, “Cheer up, Ros.  You can eventually earn your way off the pole.  Continue to prove your loyalty to my husband.“

Ros dipped her head in acknowledgement.  Petyr was losing control as he felt Sansa’s hand rub his leg, encouraging his press against her.  He growled, “Leave us.”  He barely heard the door shut or Sansa’s giggle as he spun her in his arms and covered her in wet needy kisses.  His hands travelled her body, claiming every inch of her.  Sansa sighed into his touch, allowing his adoration to shower over her.

Petyr backed her up to the bed and nudged her, as he spoke barely above a whisper, “Lay down.”  

She smiled and did as he instructed.  Petyr trailed kisses down her body over her dress and then he picked the fabric up and pushed it up above her hips.  He curled his fingers around her underwear, gently pulling them off as the warmth of this gaze poured over her.  She smiled up at him and spread her legs, inviting him to settle between them.  

Petyr wanted to.  Christ, did he want to.  But looking down at her, he couldn’t just yet.  She was beautiful and fierce and all his.  He possessed her from head to toe and claimed her eternally with the child growing inside.  The child she had accepted after weeks of uncertainty.  The child that  _ he put there _ .  He sunk down on the bed and brought his mouth to her sex, plunging his tongue into her seam.  She raised one leg reflexively and he held her thigh to hold her steady as he swirled circles around her nub.  Petyr rolled his body over her other leg to keep her from raising it and he slid his free hand up under the bunched up material of her dress to hold below her belly button possessively as he deepened his kisses.  

Her sounds of pleasure rang in his ears as he licked and sucked.  He was so focused on worshiping her that he barely noticed her hand slide over his and thread her fingers through his over her belly.  He smiled into her as he realized they were holding hands, over their baby.   


	8. To Your Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sighed happily, wondering how many children Sansa would let him give her, how far their name would spread.

As the limo rolled to a stop, Sansa became a flurry of movement, smoothing her skirt down and tugging her breasts back into place.  She fixed her fresh-from-the-fray lipstick in her compact as she spoke, “Hurry!  We’re here.”  

Petyr chuckled at her.  He was _Littlefinger_ and she was not only his wife but also leader to a north side that remembered what it was like to be led by the Stark Wolf Pack.  The whole world would fucking wait however long the Baelishes told it to, let alone an extra five minutes for him to secure his dick back in his pants.  Besides, since learning of the pregnancy, he couldn’t keep his hands off her if he tried.  He was rendered powerless to resist.  His need to be inside her was insatiable, the world be damned.    

She tossed him an annoyed look and it only made him chuckle more.  She was so beautiful.  From the downright indecent grins she gave whenever she was considering fucking him senseless, to the way her lips pursed together and her eyebrows furrowed at him whenever she tried to contain her frustration.  Sansa was a nymph, desirable whether she willed it or not, in every emotion.  He never had a reprieve from her effect on him.  

When she was satisfied that they were both put together enough to be seen, they signaled for the driver to open the door.  As they stepped out of the car, Petyr slid his arm around her waist and possessively gripped her hip.  He looked down, making sure she still carried her clutch purse.  Inside was _Mrs. Baelish_ .  He had already “checked” her thigh in the car for the knife he had asked her to wear.  Petyr adjusted his coat with his free hand to feel _Mr. Baelish,_ the other part of the set, holstered under his armpit.  He also kept a small blade strapped to his forearm under his sleeve, something that had proven useful on his own wedding day.  

Sansa reached up, sliding the back of her knuckles against his chest, gently gripping his lapel.  She let her fingers subtly extend, feeling under his jacket.  To outsiders, her fist bawled in his clothes appeared a gesture of possession, like his own grip on her hip.  However, Petyr knew better.  She was checking to make sure he was packing his pistol too.  Her other hand reached, wrapping her fingers around the arm he held around her waist.  To those who looked, she was endorsing his firm hold on her.  The way she smiled when her fingertips felt the ridges of the blade in its case, confirmed for Petyr that she continued to check on him.  

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, approving of the way in which she reciprocated his concerns.  “In-the-family” weddings had their own customs.  One being that _everyone_ packed something, from the bride and groom down to the caterers.  Another custom being that no matter how connected you were, if you were connected at all, the affair had to be lavish.  Elopement was not allowed--Petyr and Sansa were the exception only because their wedding started as a large public event before it was _crashed._  Another custom was that all the major families had to be invited whether you knew the bride or groom or not.  If your last name matched one of the families, you had to invite all the territories.  

Petyr glanced down at Sansa’s stomach as they walked up the front steps to the church and felt pride well in his chest.  He was the only Baelish, and then he made her his, and the name grew.  The Lannisters and Tyrells had been in their seats of power longer, and had aunts and uncles, cousins and _children_.  The Baelishes consisted of just two, until now.  He sighed happily, wondering how many children Sansa would let him give her, how far their name would spread.  The back of Sansa’s fingers mindlessly massaged his pec in her loose grip of his coat.  He wondered if she were making the same connections that he was as she looked at the other guests.  He returned her gesture of affection by squeezing her hip reassuringly.  

Varys and Jon, now out of the car they had trailed behind in, had walked ahead and opened the doors for them.  It was also customary to bring right hands.  Varys had always been Petyr’s, since the early days after he took over from the Arryns.  Petyr remembered fondly how Varys was the first to accept the new regime and prove himself loyal by killing a loyal follower of the Arryns with some piano wire.  Aside from being cousins, Jon had proven himself loyal to Sansa through their own long bloody history.  

As Petyr and Sansa walked through the heavy oak doors, he realized that Sansa didn’t really have a right hand to help her in the north.  Jon was more bodyguard than anything else.  She had that Shae girl look into things for her from time to time, but only on a contract basis as he had with Bronn.  Who else did she trust?  Her sister.  But Arya would never take that chair at the table, she avoided the city and the life.  It was a shame too, because Arya was very smart despite her more simple dialect and would probably offer good counsel.  She was also raised in this world, fiercely devoted to Sansa, and quite deadly.  

Petyr’s memory flashed to one of his own weaker moments as he lay sprawled on a counter, his insides taped, stapled, and sewed back in.  As his eyes fluttered in and out of consciousness, he caught sight of Arya mono-chrome, head to toe dark red.  He focused his vision to see that she stood caked and crusted in blood, gripping a large bowie knife.  The only thing not red was her teeth as she smiled, exultant.  Petyr had no doubt that Arya would handle messier situations for them with ease.  But she remained in her little biker bar, not offering herself for use.      

A right hand man had to possess several qualities.  They had to be intelligent, understanding the intricate relationships and behaviors of the other families as well as the infrastructure of their own family.  They had to be able to offer counsel when called upon.  He had always had Varys for that.  Who did Sansa call upon for counsel?  In the rare occasions when she did, she had always consulted with Petyr.  He reasoned that it was because, even though she was born to this life, she was still so new to it.  Of course she would talk to her more experienced husband.

Petyr was pulled from his thoughts as he felt Sansa let go of his coat and leave his grasp.  He snapped to attention at the loss of contact with her.  She was embracing Cersei Lannister, both women hugged warmly and offered polite kisses on each other’s cheek.  They were two sides of the same coin.  Two powerful women, playing at friendship with each other, maintaining relations.  Cersei let her golden locks ripple down her back just as Sansa allowed her fiery red mane to blaze over hers.  Seeing them both so strong and vibrant, he barely noticed Jaime Lannister standing in front of him.  

“Breath-taking aren’t they?”  Jaime whispered with a lewd smile as he leaned in.  

Petyr forced himself to match his grin, “Mm.”  Jaime was right, they were breathtaking but not for the same reason that he thought.  Jaime saw two beautiful women and considered what it would be like to fuck them in a pile of “tits and ass,” as Tyrion had put it before.  Petyr saw two strong and deadly women, and was astute enough to fear what it would be like to stand in between the two.

Jaime adjusted his pants as he looked at the women and whispered, “That’s a sandwich I wouldn’t mind eating out.”  

Petyr knew that in Jaime’s arousal, he had forgotten who he was looking at.  He had forgotten himself and who to respect.  That’s why his right hand was his brother Tyrion.  He helped Jaime think.  Petyr looked down to Tyrion, who was standing off to the side by Varys and Jon, and realized that he hadn’t heard what was said to try to curb it.  It was unfortunate that Tyrion couldn’t be everywhere, keeping his brother in check.  

Petyr wanted to put Jaime in his place, but decided that a wedding was no place for threats, so he tried something else.  Petyr made a mock-tired look as he whispered back, “They aren’t ditzy spring-breakers, women like ours demand our full attention.  Two would be exhausting.”  

Jaime chuckled.  Cersei had turned Sansa to look at the decorations and they chirped back and forth like little birds.  Petyr decided to drive the point home to Jaime, as he finished, “However, you’re right.  They are stunning.  If you ever want to arrange a swap, keep us in mind.”  

It was an empty offer.  Petyr knew that Jaime would never allow it so he felt safe in saying it.  Jaime sneered and Petyr knew it was the thought of Cersei with him that had done it.  Jaime was obsessed with completely possessing his wife.  The thought of any man with her sent him into a murderous rage.  Petyr heard Sansa’s light chuckle ahead of him and smiled, understanding Jaime completely.  No one could help the man that presumed to be able to fit his body against Sansa’s; Petyr would have no mercy for them.  

It was also no secret that Cersei was married prior to Jaime and it was well-believed that Cersei herself arranged the hit for Robert Baratheon.  No one was allowed to talk about it.  Anyone who mentioned Robert ended up silenced forever.  Not even his brother, Renly Baratheon-Tyrell dared to speak of him.  Though his disdain for Cersei was well felt.  

People said that once she met Jaime, the connection they had was so strong that she killed her husband to be with him.  Petyr didn’t know anything first hand as it had all happened before his time, he was just running away from his last foster home when Cersei joined Jaime in the seat of power for the West side.  Knowing Cersei now, Petyr had no doubt in his mind that she would have killed Robert, or any man that was not Jaime.    

Petyr glanced at the round ass that hovered below the river of red hair in front of him and his mouth twitched as he thought of the night he wrapped himself around her as she pulled the trigger to kill Sandor Clegane, not once but three times.  She had her reasons for killing the Hound, and one of them undoubtedly was to free herself of him to be with Petyr.  Perhaps Jaime and Cersei were not so unlike Petyr and Sansa.  

Petyr considered for the time being it was very beneficial to have cultivated a strong alliance with them, especially when thinking of their family roots.  Robert married Cersei as soon as she became a legal adult, and a little over a year later she was free of him.  In that same year, she was married to Jaime and discovered pregnant.  Petyr glanced a couple pews ahead to see the three golden-haired Lannister children sitting in a line: Joffery, Myrcella, and Tommen.  When Joffery was a baby, some people questioned whether or not he was Roberts, but as the boy aged and his features grew more apparent, there was no denying that Jaime was his father.  Petyr thought of the boy’s slow wit and considered the truth in it.  

A couple of years back, Petyr had accepted Joffery as an apprentice of sorts, and was utterly disappointed.  Sansa had him beaten for his stupidity.  Or at least that is what he told Jaime and Cersei to avoid hard feelings.  Sometimes children needed a spanking, they understood that.  Petyr considered the baby growing inside his wife and realized that spanking would not be necessary for their child.  Genetics predicted that it was bound to be very intelligent and therefore would learn without ever needing a rough hand.  

Petyr sighed warmly as he remembered the real reason for Joffery’s beating.  It was an invitation.  The first indication that Sansa wanted his attention.  He felt his cock twitch in his pants as he remembered the first days of their courtship.  Sansa turned slightly, smiling uncomfortably back at Cersei and darted her glance back to Petyr.  He realized she was uneasy and looking to him.  He shook himself out of his memory and tuned in, listening.  

Cersei’s voice echoed, “Come on!  You can’t fool me.  I’ve had three of them.  You’re absolutely glowing.”  

Sansa laughed and made a joke about make up as she looked back at Petyr.  Jaime turned to him, “You pop a bun in that oven, Baelish?”  

Petyr plastered a neutral grin on his face, allowing one eyebrow to raise in mock curiosity, “What?”  

Jaime threw his head back a little to allow his styled hair to fly away from his eyes as he chuckled, “Cersei has a sixth sense for this sort of thing.  She loved being pregnant so much, that she can smell it a mile away.”  

Fuck.  That was private.  And _theirs._ How did they know?  Petyr briefly catalogued in his brain all the people that they had told:  All of Sansa’s family, Varys, and that maid Ros.  Petyr knew that it couldn’t be any of them.  He had Ros under surveillance since she left their bedroom that day.  Varys would never share this information without asking first; he knew the value of it.  And Sansa’s family never came into contact with the Lannisters.  Maybe that shifty brother Bran?  He was a drug addict.  But the one thing you could count on with drug addicts was that nine out of ten times, they were too stupid to know who to go to.  Bran wouldn’t know a Lannister if they smacked him in the head.  And he hadn’t proven disloyal to Sansa yet, maybe rehab really was working.  Perhaps Jaime was right; maybe as a woman Cersei could just tell.  

The world would know soon enough.  Petyr studied the room, packed to the rafters with _family_.  That was where all the power was.  He looked back into Sansa’s shimmering blue pools and projected confidence as he spoke to her through his words to Jaime, “I guess there’s no point in denying it.”  

He watched her eyes dilate, and the color run to her cheeks as she stared back at him and spoke to Cersei, “You could be a fortune teller.”  

“I knew it!”  Cersei grinned triumphantly.  

Jaime clasped Petyr’s shoulder in encouragement.  “Congratulations.”  He leaned in further as he added in a whisper, “Once you get past all the puking, the baby will make her so horny you’ll wear your cock out, at least once.”  

Petyr chuckled back, “Speak for yourself.”  He knew he needed to act as if they had a close friendship, but he never liked discussing his sex life with anyone.  He tried to keep an ear to their conversation but had to vaguely listen to Jaime as well.  

Petyr heard Sansa offer details, “Six weeks.  No nausea yet.  I’m not tired at all.”

She was right.  All the symptoms of pregnancy that people complained about seemed to pass right over Sansa.  He felt proud of how capable she was proving to be at managing motherhood.  Unable to find any fault in her, he wondered if the baby inside of her perfected her.  Or, if she was always this magnificent and her ability to maintain her strength as she grew a life was just another item in the long list of things his young wife was proving to be quite adept at.

“Speaking of vomit, he looks like he’s going to lose his lunch.”  Jaime chuckled as he pointed up to the groom, a nervous and upset Lancel.  

Petyr found himself grin a little wider than he ought to at Lancel’s discomfort.  “Shotgun-weddings tend to do that to grooms.”  

Jaime laughed, Cersei scowled, and Sansa frowned.  Petyr understood Jaime and Cersei’s responses; Jaime ordered the marriage and Cersei didn’t want any Lannister marrying beneath them to a Frey.  Why was Sansa so displeased?  He remembered seeing her look disappointed before, a month ago when he first told her about the marriage over dinner.  What attachment did she have to Lancel?  Petyr knew that Lancel had approached her one night while she was out with Arya and Jon, but didn’t think she knew him outside of that time.  As far as Petyr was aware, they had never touched, not even a handshake.  What had the Lannister said to her?  Whatever it was, it left quite an impression.  And that pissed him off.  

Petyr reached forward and pulled Sansa close to him, sliding his hand over her stomach, spreading his fingers across the expanse of it.  Jaime took his lead and linked his arm in Cersei’s, offering his wife a gentle kiss on the cheek.  “I’m sorry, darling.  I know it’s beneath us, but like I said before, it’s good business to keep Frey happy.”  

Cersei simmered in displeasure.  Jaime spoke again, “Come now, we made a deal.”  

Petyr and Sansa stood watching the small domestic spat play out.  Sansa appeared to have recovered, her frown gone.  She even looked mildly amused as she watched the golden couple.  Petyr maintained his hold of her and his subtle glare at Lancel.  He did not like the feeling that grew inside of him at not knowing another man’s effect on his wife.  Sansa leaned against him, further into his embrace.  He could not tell if it was simply open affection as Sansa was never shy to give, or if she could sense his tension, as she was also very astute to.  Regardless, she kept the focus on the display in front of them as she asked, “Deal?”

Cersei huffed impatiently.  “I let up on the marriage if Jaime let me delay the Tyrell invite.”  

“To fashion week or the wedding?”  Petyr found himself asking, amused by the way she delighted in disrespecting Renly.  

Cersei’s mouth got smart, “Both.  I had forgotten to delay the wedding invite until you,”  She gestured playfully towards Sansa.  “Reminded me of my manners concerning fashion week.  I kept the wedding invite aside for good measure.”  

All four of them chuckled openly, though the tension could be chewed.  Cersei openly made light of Sansa’s counsel, and that was disrespectful.  Petyr was aware of Tyrion looking down in disgust and Varys shifting uncomfortably in his italian loafers.  Jaime flashed his teeth as he dismissed her jab, “Oh my Cersei, she does love her games.  She would cut her nose off to spite her face.”  

“No, Love.”  She laughed back, “Just to spite you.”  

Jaime laughed loudly and unapologetically as he flung an arm around her, “I do like them feisty.”  

He was not fooling the Baelishes.  Petyr knew that for as much as Jaime boasted about his virility and manliness and tried to brush his wife’s behavior under the rug, he was whipped--completely and utterly under her spell.  Jaime never visited Petyr’s clubs, or any for that matter, not without Cersei on his arm.  According to Varys’ intel, Jaime didn’t fuck around either.  Petyr admired his absolute devotion to her, especially it’s long-lasting nature, spanning at least twenty years, as Joffery had to be twenty by now.  

Tyrion interjected, “What would a wedding be if no business was discussed?  Can we count on the Harpy to pack the models for fashion week?  It’s a little under two weeks away…”  

All attention shifted to the little man trying to capitalize on a time when two houses were together under the same roof.  Petyr assured him.  “Yes, I’ve already received word from my contact.”  

Jaime turned serious as he clarified, “And you verified their word?”  

Petyr knew that he was questioning how reliable the Sons of the Harpy contact was.  He couldn’t blame him.  The whole city learned on Petyr’s wedding day that the Second Sons were posing as Sons of the Harpy.  Luckily, while Petyr was bedridden, recovering from almost fatal wounds, Sansa and Varys had changed the story.  

Petyr had been paying the Second Sons to deal with the other families so that he could siphon off more profit.  But that is not what the world discovered.  Varys ran to Tyrion of the Lannisters and, at the time, Olenna of the Tyrells in a meeting of the family’s trusted right hands _._  He told them that the Second Sons had hijacked a Harpy boat and bombed another.  Varys spun his web of lies, telling them that Petyr had found them out and was planning to expose them after his wedding.  He explained that was why the wedding was crashed and Petyr was taken.  A few days later, Sansa met with Jaime and Cersei as well as Loras and Renly and confirmed Varys’ tale as well as shared news that she was now Sansa _Baelish_.

As Petyr remembered how Varys and Sansa both handled the situation while he was incapacitated, he thought of the second qualification of any right hand.  They needed to have the ability to step in and handle things.  They needed to use their own intelligent counsel to get hands on.  They had to organize the meetings, call the people together, and keep things running.  Petyr could not count the many times Varys had done that.  He glanced over at Sansa and wondered how often she had managed situations independent of him--things he may not even know about.  He hadn’t been keeping count of the many times he had fixed things for Sansa, it was just what he did, without thinking.  That was a husband’s job, though, wasn’t it?  To support his wife.    

Petyr nodded in reassurance, his words passionate, “Precautions have been taken.  We lost too much on that day to allow anything like that to ever happen again.”  

Sansa reached for his hand and kissed the back of it.  She brought his palm down to meet his other over her stomach as her eyes sparkled back at him, “We have so much to protect now.”

Jaime smiled as Cersei hung her arm around his waist, “They remind me so much of us.”  

“With Joffery?”  Jaime asked as he leaned over to offer a kiss.  

Cersei returned it before she responded, “No.  We weren’t that confident when we had Joffery.  In love, yes.  All the rest, no.  This reminds me of Tommen.”  

“Mm.  Tommen.”  Jaime pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head, sniffing her hair as he spoke, “That was a very good year.”  

Petyr watched Cersei’s eyes flutter in response to her husband’s touch and the memory of the years they shared together.  He found himself looking at his young wife and wishing he had more time with her.  He tried not to let their age difference upset him, but he felt cheated.   _Cheated_ because he was older, that he had lived so long not knowing this feeling that bloomed in his chest.  And _cheated_ that he was thirty-seven years old, and just now starting to have what the Lannisters had nurtured together: two years to their twenty.  

He felt Sansa pulling him down the aisle to find their seat and he told himself that in just two years together, they were already just as cohesive as the Lannisters, if not more so.  Tyrion gestured for them to sit a few rows behind the Lannisters.  As they took their seat, Varys to his left, and Jon to her right, Petyr heard a whisper-scream, “Hey Shortcake!”  

Petyr cut his eyes to the right quickly and saw the Tyrells in a pew parallel to them.  It was smart of the Lannisters to put them both at an equal place in the seating.  However, the fact that the Baelishes sat behind the Lannisters and the Tyrells sat behind the Freys was a clear demonstration of who was the favored family.  Sansa had turned her head smoothly, not appearing to be affected by the nickname.  She raised her hand and waved graciously.  Loras blew her a kiss and Renly rolled his eyes at his husband but smiled wide at seeing her.  The Baelishes and the Tyrells got along well.  That was mostly due to Sansa, she had a way with them.    

Petyr fought not to roll his eyes.  He disliked anyone other than him offering her a term of endearment.  Come to think of it, he didn’t really have a term of endearment for her, did he?  All this time, and no pet name.  He stared at the side of her head, watching the colored glass of the cathedral light the strands of her hair in different ways as he contemplated what he called her in familiarity.  It had always been, “Sansa,” or “my wife.”  He closed his eyes for a second and thought about the times he would settle himself between her legs, or cover her mouth with his, grabbing handfuls of her silky smooth skin.  What had he called her then?  Surely it wasn’t, “hey you.”  

As if she could read his mind, he felt her left hand find his thigh and give it a rub as she blew a return kiss to them.  The music started playing, drawing everyone’s attention forward.  The final quality of any right hand man was: loyalty.  Varys had proven his loyalty to Petyr that day with the piano wire and every day since when the accounts weren’t shorted, and the bodies were cleaned up.  Petyr rested his arm on the back of the pew allowing his fingers to gently stroke Sansa’s shoulder.  He felt the back of his knuckle hit fabric and glanced up to see Jon looking down at his hand, shifting a little further away from Sansa.  Petyr bit back a chuckle at Jon’s discomfort over the accidental graze.  

Petyr heard Sansa offer a light sigh as she looked up at Lancel waiting to receive his bride.  Petyr felt his lips twitch in mild irritation, _why is she so upset?_  Petyr felt his heart start to speed up inside his chest as he reminded himself to maintain his composure.  Boys got jealous.  He told himself that married men with a baby on the way were past that sort of thing.  He inhaled and narrowed his eyes at Lancel as he thought about the past two weeks.  He felt the joy and happiness that he and Sansa had shared, how committed and devoted they were.  He thought of how she told him she was carrying his child, the unequivocal loyalty she showed him.  

As the bride met Lancel in front of the priest, Petyr heard Sansa sigh again before she said, “Sad, isn’t it?”  

He felt his body heat and his arms flex as excitement rushed through him.  She was talking to him.  He could find out more.  Things were always better when he knew what she was thinking.  Petyr tried to keep his voice neutral as he tread carefully, “Weddings are supposed to be happy.”  

Sansa picked her hand up from his thigh and tugged his free hand into hers as she leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder.  Her voice was soft as she explained, “So are babies.  It’s sad to think that their child is not considered a blessing.  It’s a curse to him.  How will he ever love it now?  Children need love.”  

Petyr felt relief wash over him.  She was not sad or disappointed _for_ Lancel being shackled to a Frey.  She was upset with him and for the child.  Petyr squeezed her hand and turned his cheek to kiss the top of her head.  He spoke into her hair, “Take comfort that _ours_ is loved and will always have what it needs.”

Sansa sighed into him, this time differently.  He noted the sadness had receded and he felt contentment coming from her.  Her voice was a whisper, “You are right.  And I am thankful.”  

As he held her close to him, he scolded himself for getting worked up over nothing.  Sansa’s loyalties could never be questioned.  Other men did not appear to even register to her, let alone someone like Lancel.  It was then that Petyr realized what he called her intimately.  It was not:  Sweetheart, Honey, Babe, or Pumpkin.  It was simply _Mine._

As Lancel pulled the veil back on his new bride, Petyr summed up the qualities of a right-hand man: someone who offers counsel, can step in and handle things, and who is fervently loyal.  It was him.  He was that person to her.  To a T.  She didn’t need to find or elect a right hand.  He was it.  And he had been it all along.  Sansa Baelish’s right hand man was Littlefinger himself.  

He allowed a grin to spread across his lips as he realized that in the short time they had been together, Sansa had been acting right-hand to him as well.  Was that just what marriage was?  Petyr truly didn’t know.  He had seen so many mobsters and trophy-wives, neither knowing, or caring what the other did as long as the money kept flowing and the legs kept spreading.  The Lannisters were the only ones he had seen where both man and wife knew the family business.  

Petyr held his face up to the ceremony in front of him, but let his eyes wander down to Sansa’s abdomen, to the child within.  He had not wanted the liability of a family, and then he desired it more than he had wanted anything else in his life.  He never questioned his capability of keeping it safe and protected.  But feeling how fortified he and his young wife were, he was more ready than ever to welcome their little one into the world… a world that they ran side by side.    


	9. These Things Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ********** TRIGGER WARNING: MISCARRIAGE **********
> 
> Dear reader,
> 
> If you have decided to keep reading this chapter despite the warning, please understand and respect that every miscarriage is different as well as every body that goes through it and every doctor that advises on it. Emotions are felt and expressed differently in everyone as well. Read with the understanding that this is the scenario for this story and the response for these particular characters. If your personal story, or someone you know's personal story is different, please do not let that take away from this work of fiction.
> 
> Thank You Sincerely,  
> WriterChick

Sansa blinked, slowly opening her eyes.  There was something wet in her bed.  Unable to see in the dark, she reached her hand down to inspect it.  It was slippery and covered her legs.  She pulled her hands up and pinched her fingers together and then pulled them apart, sticking a little together.  Sansa extended her neck and sniffed.  The smell was heavy, thick, earthy, primal--and  _ familiar _ . 

_ Fuck!  _  Sansa threw the covers back and ran for the light switch on the wall.  She looked down at the bloody footprints that had trailed from the bed, which held a pool of blood where she laid.   _ No, no, no, no, no, NO!  FUCK!  NO!  Please, fuck, please no.   _

She tried to scream but nothing came out, her arms trembled as she looked down at the stains of blood on her nighty.   _ I can fix this.  It’s going to be okay.  It looks bad, real bad.  But it’s going to be okay.  I can fix this.  I  _ _ will _ _ fix this.  I just gotta keep calm.  Breathe. _  She pulled her hair back behind her ears and took a sharp inhale.  She walked on wobbly legs over to the nightstand where her phone was.  Sansa thought of Petyr.  She took another controlled breath as she remembered him slipping out of bed in the early hours of the morning, saying something about trouble at one of the clubs.  She remembered him kissing her belly and saying goodbye to both her and the baby.  

_ Oh god.   _ She closed her eyes as she thought about Petyr’s last contact with her and the child.  With shivering fingers, she punched the numbers into phone.  She crossed her legs, irrationally trying to hold everything that was coming out back in as she listened to the phone ring.  When the receptionist answered Sansa couldn’t think of what to say, unable to find the words.  She cleared her throat and tried to speak calmly into the phone, “My name is Sansa Baelish and I need to speak to my doctor immediately.  I am six weeks and three days pregnant and I am bleeding.”  

“Spotting?  Or  _ bleeding _ ?”  The receptionist asked and Sansa confirmed the later.  The voice sounded as though it belonged to a middle aged woman as it spoke with remorse, “Oh honey, I’m so sorry.  These things happen.  I’ll get him.”  

_ Sorry?  What the hell are you sorry for?  It’s going to be okay.  We’re going to fix this.   _ Sansa thought to herself as she listened to the elevator music keeping her on hold.  She started thinking that she shouldn’t have called him, she should have just gone immediately to the hospital.  She stood up to get her purse, and another gush of blood slid down her thigh.  She bit her lip as she held back a sob.  Heat washed over her and the hair on her arms prickled in panic.  The voice on the phone was tired and impatient, “Yes, hello?”  

“Help me.”  Her voice was so small she didn’t recognize it.  

“I’m trying.  You are bleeding and you’re in your first trimester?”  He asked but didn’t wait for her answer as he continued, “Do you see any clots?  How much blood is there?  More than a cup-full?”  

Sansa was nodding her head as she stared ahead at all the red that painted her linens.  She jumped when the voice pushed her for an answer, “Hello?”  

“Yyyes.  Bbboth.”  She cleared her throat again to stop the stutter, “Yes to both.”  

“Are you in a lot of pain?”  The voice asked.  

For the first time, Sansa realized that she did feel pain.  It was a cramping that clamped down on her abdomen, making her feel like she was trapped in a vice grip.  Sweat formed on her brow as she allowed herself to actually feel the pain that wounded her.  “Yes.”  

“Can you talk through it?”  He spoke so fast she barely understood.  

“What?  Of course I can.”  She replied, annoyed at the question.  Shouldn’t he be directing her to the hospital?  

“Good.  You won’t require hospital intervention.  Your body will take care of this on it’s own.  The bleeding should stop in five to seven days, a bit heavier than a period, but managed like one.  If the bleeding does not stop after a week, make an appointment so we can help clear out any remaining  _ material. _  You don’t want an infection.”  He spoke as if he were addressing a mundane task like ordering takeout or giving directions to someone’s house.  

Sansa’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, unable to comprehend what he was telling her.  And then his voice sounded softer, attempting compassion, “I am sorry, ma’am.  These things happen.  A lot more often than you think.  Better earlier rather than later.  Give your body a solid month to let your hormones even out before you try to conceive again.”  

Sansa hit the end button on her phone, unable to speak.  Unable to fight.  Unable to fix.  She stared at her home screen and the primary contact:   _ ATM _ .  Petyr’s one-sided smirk looked back at her.  She tilted her head back against the wall behind her and sank to the floor as the tears rolled down her cheeks.  And there she stayed.  For at least an hour.  Maybe two.  Time was completely relative.  

Her phone buzzed,  _ Whores are such work.  Shaping up to be a long day.  How about you?   _

_ Petyr.  Fuck. _  She remembered him, as her mind raced.  What would she tell him?  He had wanted this baby so much, asked her for it--worshiped her for it.  She scanned the bloody massacre in front of her and thought,  _ What will he think of me now? _

_ Stay calm,  _ she told herself.   _ Damage control.   _ If Petyr had to know what had happened, he didn’t need to see it.  She typed back,  _ Nothing too exciting.   _ And then she texted Jon,  _ Come to my bedroom now. _

Within seconds, Jon was knocking on the door.  “Are you alone?” she asked, not wanting anyone to see inside the room when she opened the door.  He knocked back once, that was their code for yes as he couldn’t exactly speak.  Slowly, Sansa opened the door and allowed him in.  

She shut and locked the door behind him as he stood stock-still.  He whipped around to look at her, his eyes wide in panic.  He instantly reached for her and scooped her up, carrying towards the door.  “No!”  She shook her head at him, and wiggled out of his arms.  

His hands flew up as he told her she needed to go to the emergency room.  She wavered on her feet, “It’s too late.  It’s done.  I called the doctor.  It’s  _ over _ .”  Her voice broke on the last word.  It wasn’t over.  Apparently, it wouldn’t be over for _ five to seven days.  _

Jon pulled his phone out and Sansa asked who he was texting.  When he told her it was Petyr, she slapped the phone out of his hands.  She hadn’t meant to, it was just so automatic.  She didn’t want Petyr to know.  Not yet.  She wasn’t ready.  Jon looked up at her confused.  She couldn’t find the words to explain how she felt, so she stared back silently.  Jon worked his hands and told her that she needed Petyr.  

Sansa shook her head no and cleared her throat.  “No, I need your help.  Help me hide this.”  

Jon cocked his head in doubt and told her that she shouldn’t hide things like this from her husband.  Sansa felt her eye twitch and her muscles flex.  Anger.  Rage.  Power rippled through her as she barked back at him, “I didn’t call you to judge me.  I didn’t call you for marriage counseling either.  I called you to help me clean this fucking mess up.  Will you help me or not?”  

Jon glanced around the room and hung his head mournfully as he nodded his agreement.  She strengthened her voice as she gave direction, “Dismiss the staff for the day.  All of them.  Even the gardener.  When they are all gone, go to the store and get me some pads.”  

He told her he didn’t know what to get and she answered, “Anything that says, ‘Super’ or ‘Maxi’ or ‘Overnight.’”  

He nodded and turned on his heel to leave before her hand shot out and caught his arm.  “Give me your phone.”  Jon glanced back over his shoulder, hesitating.  She continued, “You will think you are helping me by calling him, but you won’t be.  Your loyalty to me will lead to your betrayal.  Give me the phone, Jon.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled as he turned and handed her his phone.  Sansa took it from him and was surprised to see him reach forward, placing his palm on her stomach.  She looked up at him and saw his glassy eyes stare back into her.  Though he could not speak, he still mouthed the word,  _ Sorry. _  Sansa moved her hand over his and squeezed him as she closed her eyes, fighting the tears while answering, “Me too.”

He kissed the top of her head and she released her hold on his hand.  He dropped his hand and turned quickly to go.  The door shut behind him and Sansa looked at the blood around the room and the phones in her hands.  Hers buzzed,  _ Want to stop by for lunch?  I’d love the company. _

Sansa trembled with the feeling that once he found out, he wouldn’t love the company.  Not anymore.  She told herself that she couldn’t worry and predict what he would say or do, she could only focus on what she could do right then.  And that was to clean.  She typed back,  _ I wish I could.  I promised Arya I’d meet her at the range today. _

She set the phones down on the nightstand and pulled the sheets and blankets off of the bed.  Luckily the floor was hardwood with an area rug at the end of the bed, which she had not stepped on and therefore remained clean.  She slid the sheets over the blood on the floor, mopping up anything that was wet.  She grabbed a washcloth and ran water over it from the bathroom and scrubbed at the dry blood on the floor.  It came up easy because of the wax coating over the hardwood.  She pumped the hand soap onto the cloth and started scrubbing the dark spot on the mattress.   _ Fuck, what did mom always say?  Blot? _  She tried to remember, but couldn’t.  

She reached for her phone, and pulled up Robb’s name.  She had learned years prior that clean up was something Robb had done quite a bit for the family.  He answered and Sansa forced herself to make small talk for a couple of minutes before getting to the meat of it, “Robb, if I were to get blood out of  _ furniture _ , how would I go about doing that?”  

“Don’t you have people for that sort of thing now?”  His voice felt interrogative.  Though it may have been only because she was hiding something.  

She deflected, “Ha. Ha. Some things have to be done yourself.”    

“Pour hot soapy water over it, dab up what you can with a towel, and then pour baking soda over it.  Let it dry and clump up, it will pull the stain into the clumps of baking soda.  Then, when it’s fainter, take some club soda to it and dab up the rest.”  He advised, and then his voice got more serious, “I know you can’t tell me anything, but I’m going to take the fact that you are around to ask me this, that you guys are okay.”  

She knew that he was picturing another messy shootout and was thankful that the Baelishes had apparently won.  She didn’t correct him simply because she didn’t know what she would say in place of it.  “We’re okay.”  There was a pause and then she reached out, “Robb--love you.”  

“Okay, now I am worried.”  He spoke with concern.  

She made herself smile as she spoke so that her tone would be lighter, “Don’t be.  I gotta run.  Take care, brother.”  She hit the end button and looked back at the stain that she had fiercely rubbed at to no avail.  

She threw the washcloth at the pile of bloody linens and peeled her nighty off, tossing it on the pile too.  Another cramp gripped her and she bent over, more blood oozing down her leg.  She caught what she could in her hand, keeping it from the floor as she took careful strides towards the bathroom.  She stepped directly in the shower and turned the water on.  Leaning against the wall while all the showerheads hit her, she angled one down to hit her abdomen.  The hot water running over that tender area soothed the clenching feeling of her insides.  She watched the red tinted water run to the drain and she allowed herself to think about what else had slipped away.  She let her hand slide down over her belly button and rubbed a slow circle over it as she would have a baby’s back.  Sansa let the tears pour out of her as she sobbed privately to herself, “I have nothing of you to hold.”  

Nothing to say goodbye to.  Nothing to bury.  Nothing to grieve.  She stumbled back onto the built in bench and reclined, holding her belly as gently as she would have her baby.  She spoke to the child she would never meet and apologized for failing to keep it safe.  She dug her fingers into her thigh, her nails cutting past the first layer of flesh as she cursed her insides for failing to nurture the life it had promised give her.  She ground her teeth in anger at her body’s betrayal.  

After a long time, she was stirred out of her stupor by the sound of Jon knocking on the door.  Sansa wrapped herself in a towel and let him in.  He handed her the package of over-sized sanitary napkins and pointed at the bed.  It was perfectly made, a new comforter brought out from the closet.  Sansa tried to tell him about the stain.  He told her he cut it out of the bed, and stuffed the hole with padding from a throw pillow and made the bed over it.  No one would know to look at it.  Sansa nodded and thanked him.  He left her to dress as he gathered the bloody pile of linens and made for the patio.  

Sansa found her most sensible cotton undies and lined them with the surfboard of a pad and pulled it flush against her skin, containing the random gushes that came from her.  She picked a pair of black yoga pants as the waistband was very forgiving and a cotton t-shirt.  As she walked through her bedroom, she noticed her closet door was open from when Jon had pulled out the new bedding.  Hanging in the back was the wolf pelt that she had had since she was fourteen.  It had always brought her strength before, she reasoned, as she pulled it down and gathered it around herself as she walked toward the patio.  

Jon stood there pouring gasoline into a metal trash can that he must have dragged out of the garage.  He dropped the linens in the can and looked back at Sansa.  She stood silently staring ahead, feeling empty.  Jon turned to fully meet her as he told her that Petyr should be there.  Sansa stared ahead, ignoring him.  Jon tried again, telling her that Petyr would want to help her with this.  She clenched her hands over his to quiet him as she met his eye.  “I would not suffer my husband this heartache.”  

Jon said nothing as he looked back into her eyes.  She let go of his hands and continued, “This is a great disappointment.  How do you think Petyr- _ Littlefinger _ -Baelish takes disappointment?”  

Jon stared back at her, his mouth opening in surprise.  Sansa reached for the box of matches sitting on the patio table.  She scratched the side of the box and watched the flame dance on the head of the match before she flicked it into the metal can.  She spoke into the growing flames, “Someone is going to die for this.”  

Jon cocked an eyebrow at her and asked her if she was scared of Petyr.  Sansa laughed, it was hollow and sick as she responded, “Anyone would be foolish not to be.”  After a pause she finished, “So I guess, I’m very foolish.”  

Her trusted bodyguard told her that she couldn’t possibly think that Petyr would kill her.  Sansa wouldn’t look at him as she responded, “I wouldn’t try to stop him if he did.”  

Jon grabbed her arm and yanked her, trying to rattle some sense into her.  She knew she was in shock and probably saying things she didn’t truly feel.  Though, in that moment, it seemed perfectly rational to her.  She sighed and turned to face Jon, “No, Jon.  I don’t think he’ll kill me.   _ Someone _ will die, though.  I don’t know who.  It will be quiet and composed, but it will happen nonetheless.”  She swallowed back the lump in her throat as she continued, “This is going to hurt him.  _  I hurt him _ .  I will not twist the knife by letting him see the wreckage of the future we were going to share.”

As if he knew they were talking about him, Petyr sent Sansa a message.  She read the screen,  _ Why did you dismiss all the staff?  I thought you were at the range. _

Her heart sped up as she knew she was caught.  No.  Not yet.  She needed more time.  Time to think.  Time to figure out what she would say to him.  How she would let him down.  She picked her head up and spoke to Jon, “Move this can out of sight, and get the car.”  

She strode back into the house, and changed her pad, burying the bloody one deep into the trashcan.  The maids would find out on trash day, and that was okay.  That day was not today.  She filled her purse with more gigantic sanitary napkins and opened her medicine cabinet to grab a bottle of ibuprofen when she came face to face with the pink bottle of prenatal vitamins.  A sob escaped her as she looked at it.  She gripped the counter as her sorrow turned quickly aggressive.  Without thinking, she lunged forward grabbing it out of cabinet and threw it across the bathroom, screaming in fury.  The plastic cracked against the tile and the pills flew in a million different directions like tiny shrapnel.  

_ Sansa? _  Her phone vibrated.  Shit.  She had forgotten to respond.  She typed in,  _ Sorry, bathroom.  I felt like being generous.  And I’ve gotten a late start--on my way over there now. _

Jon came in at the sound of the yelling and crashing.  He looked at the vitamins scattered and asked where her broom was.  She didn’t know.  As Petyr liked to say, “they had people for that.”  She shook her head that she didn’t know and Jon dropped to the floor picking them all up.  She tried to bend down to help him, but another cramp hit her and she stayed leaned against the counter.  Jon threw it all in the trash and Sansa told him to grab the bag out of it.  She planned to throw it in a public trash can.  She could hide one bloody pad but a broken bottle with pills wasn’t as easy to conceal.  

She climbed into the car and told Jon to drive.  She didn’t care where, she needed the car to be gone.  She told Petyr she was going to the range.  He shouldn’t be seeing the car at the estate.  Driving always made her feel better anyway.  It calmed her nerves and helped her feel safe, even if it was just safe from herself.  Belted into a heavy moving car accelerating down the pavement helped her feel more contained, as if everything that had fallen apart could be kept together.  Periodically, Jon drove with his knees to ask her quickly if she wanted to stop.  She always declined.  They must have been at it for hours as she saw the same road signs and monuments, having gone in circles.  

She knew she had to go back and face him, tell him what they had lost.  But she didn’t know how.  Sansa didn’t know what to tell herself, let alone him.  She thought of the proud way he held her on his arm, showing the world how much he adored his fertile wife.  She ran through the things the doctor said in her head, searching for any silver lining--anything that would help.  

Sansa felt the car roll to a stop, she looked up from her lap and read the words:   _ Wolfswood Tavern.   _ Arya.  Jon brought her to Arya.  Sansa turned her head to meet his eyes.  His brow wrinkled in sympathy and his hands moved to beg her to agree.  He told her that she needed to let someone help her, and if not Petyr, then Arya.  

Sansa nodded, hollow, no fight left in her.  Jon got out and opened the door for her, holding his hand out to help her up.  She winced as she moved from the sitting position to the standing.  She felt her phone buzz and she looked down at it as she heard the door shut,  _ You’re not at the range.   _

She sniffed as she typed back,  _ No, I’m not.   _

Jon walked her to the door and she felt another buzz,  _ You lied. _

She bit her lip as she typed,  _ I did. _

Jon held the door to the noisy bar open and she walked into the dim smoky room, clutching her wolf pelt around her for strength.  She scanned the room and caught sight of Arya sitting up on the bar, legs wrapped around Gendry as she reclined back reaching for the tap and filling her own mug of beer.  She had brought the drink to his lips and was cheering him on as she tilted the glass.  Arya happened to look up, catching sight of her and instantly flew off the counter, zig zagging between people to get to her.  

“Shit Sans, I wouldn’t expect you here.”  Arya wrapped her arms around her, “Everything okay?”  

Sansa couldn’t speak.  She didn’t want to have to lie, and she didn’t want to have to tell the truth either.  She looked over at Jon and he looked back at Arya and signed that Sansa had lost the baby.  Arya’s eyes widened and her mouth hung open, “No.  Fuck-No!”  

She hugged Sansa tighter.  Some toothless redneck noticed the sister’s embrace and chuckled over his drink, “Mm that’s right, let’s get a little lady-love up in here.”  

Sansa closed her eyes, no energy to address it.  She felt Arya’s muscles flex around her before she let go and walked over to the man sitting in his chair with a shit-eating grin on his face.  Arya never said a word, just reached over and punched him in the throat.  

A man with long hair and a single white stripe in the front came out from around the counter to scold Arya.  Sansa’s phone buzzed again,  _ Are you safe? _

_ Yes,  _ she responded.  

She hit send and instantly got a response,  _ Why did you lie to me? _

Sansa barely heard what her sister was saying to the man but overheard, “Four-K, double what you make in a night.  Shut it down.  Give us the floor.”  

Sansa realized what Arya had done when she heard the man holler, “Closed!  No last call!”  Arya moved around the room and started slapping tables, “You heard the man!  Move your asses!”  

Sansa typed back,  _ So you don’t know where I am.   _

As the bar cleared out, Jon lead Sansa to a booth and Arya walked over to Gendry and whispered something to him.  Sansa could figure what it was because he looked over at her and then looked down, shaking his head sympathetically.  They kissed and he turned away and left.  Arya walked behind the bar as Sansa read her phone,  _ Are you hiding from me? _

_ A little.  I can’t face you.  You don’t know it yet.  But I let you down.   _ Texting helped her feel strong enough to be more honest.  

The bar was completely empty, save for the Starks.  Arya came over to the table with a bottle of whiskey, and sat down next to Sansa.  Jon sat opposite and grabbed the bottle from Arya, pouring the drinks.  Sansa’s phone buzzed,  _ Doubtful.   _

Sansa ignored the screen and took the shot glass from the table.  All three silently raised their glass and held it in the air.  No one offered a toast.  No one knew what to say.  After a moment, Sansa brought the glass to her lips and downed it quickly, feeling it burn down her throat.  

Her phone vibrated on the table as Petyr promised her,  _ I’m coming to find you.   _

She sighed in resignation,  _ I know.   _

Arya poured another round of shots, “I take it, hubs doesn’t know?”

Jon looked down at the table, guilty.  Sansa didn’t recognize her voice as she answered, “Not yet.”  

“Shouldn’t you be telling him?”  Arya asked as she played with her full glass.  

Sansa didn’t say anything, playing with her glass too.  Finally she downed her shot and tapped the table for another.  “I don’t really want to talk about it.”  

There was a silence and then Arya nodded her head and pulled her pack of cigarettes out, “Fair.”  

Sansa watched her slap the pack against her palm and unwrap it.  Arya sniffed the box before she opened it up and pulled one out.  Sansa watched her sister’s comfortable habit and she wanted that comfort.  She wanted to feel soothed too.  She reached her hand out, “Can I get one?”  

“Shit.  Yeah.  Of course.”  Arya reached over and handed her one.  Sansa put it in her mouth and leaned into the lighter that Jon held out for her.  Just as she was realizing that Jon was the one who had a lighter and was wondering if he secretly smoked, Arya was wondering the same thing about her.  “Sans, you smoke?”  

“I am right now.”  Sansa answered.  

There was another silence and then Arya turned to her and said, “So we’re not talking about this.  What are we talking about?”  Sansa blinked back at her, unable to think of what to say next.  After a moment passed, Arya spoke again, “Did I ever tell you about that time I had to dress as a carni so Bronn could kill some fuck-tard on the tilt-a-whirl?” 

The air was stale, the silence uncomfortable.  They all looked back and forth from one to the other and then out of nowhere Sansa started laughing.  It was a sick laugh, but a laugh regardless.  Arya took the encouragement, “No, serious as shit.  Gen was off on some job and Bronn just shows up here, like how he does, and he’s all like, ‘Hey Punky, gotta gig for ya!’”  

Arya continued with her story, Sansa and Jon laughed as she described that various antics that she and Bronn had gotten into.  Time slipped away from them as the hours passed.  There were moments that lulled and Sansa cried.  Arya wrapped her arm around her and poured another drink for them, pulling her older, taller sister’s head down to her chest.  And then there were moments filled with laughter, the awkward release of tension and energy.  

It was in one of the moments that Sansa was quietly craned down onto her little sister’s shoulder that she heard Arya ask, “Do you know what you’re going to tell him now?”  

“I still don’t.”  Sansa confessed.  

Arya turned and kissed Sansa on the top of her head, “You may not have to say anything.  He looks like he knows.”  

A wave of ice crept through her veins, making her shiver with dread at the realization of what Arya just said.  She slowly picked her head up and looked past her to Petyr standing silently a couple of feet away from the table.  His eyes dark and glassy, his jaw tight.  Arya turned to her, “I love you, Sis.”  She slid out of the booth and turned to Petyr.  “Sorry, Petyr.”  

He nodded at Arya in acknowledgement as she left them.  Jon stood up and lowered his head to Petyr in sympathy.  Petyr nodded back as he had to Arya.  Sansa couldn’t maintain eye contact with him, looking down at the table in shame. 

His voice was heavy, “May I sit?”  

Trying to maintain her composure, Sansa didn’t speak.  He took her silence as acceptance and sat down beside her.  Part of her was grateful that he didn’t sit across from her, she couldn’t look at him.  The other part of her grew nervous at how close he was to her.  All day, all she had wanted was to melt into his arms, but wouldn’t allow herself to.  He reached his hand over to her arm and she cried, “Don’t.”  

His hand froze in the air.  Tears streaked down her eyes as she shook her head, “Don’t touch me.  I don’t deserve to feel you--to feel better.”  She clutched her empty belly as she confessed, “I couldn’t keep it safe.”  

Her sobs were loud and unrestrained.  Petyr hovered his hand, not touching her, clearly wanting to.  Boiling rage churned beneath the surface, as his nostrils flared and he reached across the table for what was left of the bottle of Jack Daniels.  He poured them both a drink and he raised his glass not saying anything, understanding there was nothing to say.  He looked straight ahead, not turning to meet her eyes as he spoke, “If you won’t let me touch you, will you at least drink with me?”  

Sansa looked up from her stomach, blinking, surprised at the forced calm with which he made his request.  She nodded slowly and her hand trembled as she picked up the glass.  She raised it in the air and looked back at him.  He turned and bore his eyes into hers.  The familiar mossy green pools had disappeared, leaving only dark, black dilation.  Petyr clinked his shot glass against hers and they both swallowed in one gulp.  Instantly pouring another, he looked down at the alcohol in front of him as he forced self-control into his voice, “Tell me everything.”  

Sansa’s mouth felt dry and unable to form words as she stared back at him.  He took another shot and looked forward.  His head tilted slightly and the light shimmered against his cheek as she saw a tear roll down it.  His voice was vulnerable as he beseeched her, “Please.”  

And all the words she couldn’t find came tumbling out.  Everything.  She didn’t go into graphic detail, but explained about the call to the doctor and wanting to spare him the sight.  Petyr nodded as if he had already known everything, even the things he couldn’t possibly.  She found the courage to ask him finally, “How did you know?”  

Petyr sighed and poured himself another drink.  He told her that when he knew she was lying to him, he came home to evaluate the severity of the situation.  He found two pills on the bathroom floor, missed by Jon and looked to see the trash can empty without a bag.  He went out back to look in the large bin only to find burnt linens in it.  That was when he asked her if she was safe.  At her word that she was, he decided to look up who all her most recent calls were and saw the doctor’s office.  They wouldn’t tell him anything so he went down to pay them a visit.  He had already GPSed her phone and knew that she was at Wolfswood.  Petyr told her that he knew she would be safe with Arya so he decided to investigate what would make his loyal wife run away.  He needed to know why she called the doctor, fearing the worst.  When it was confirmed, and he had  _ regained his composure _ , he came for her.  

Sansa closed her eyes, realizing the fate of the doctor; she had known it would be someone.  Petyr reached over to grasp Sansa’s hand and she pulled away again, “I can’t, Petyr.”

His voice was steely as he said, “Why not?  Yes, you can.”

Sansa shook her head, “No.   _ This is on me _ .  It was  _ my body _ that failed.  I don’t deserve you.”  

She startled when all of a sudden Petyr reached for his glass and roared as he hurled it across the room.  Glass shattered off in a distance as his knuckles turned white, fists clenched on the table.  He growled, “And what about what  _ I deserve?! _ ”  

Sansa gaped at the rage that coursed through him, his chest pounded as he labored for breath.  Petyr turned to face her and spoke through clenched teeth, “Like you--  _ I _ have lost  _ a child _ .  And now you will withhold my wife from me too?”  

Sansa sat shocked at his passion.  She shouldn’t have been and she knew that.  But she was.  Unable to think of what to say, she moved her hands to him, instantly giving him the contact he craved.  She placed one hand on his ribs and wrapped herself around his arm as she slid her other palm over the planes of his beating chest.  He pursed his lips together, inhaling through his nose.  He fluttered his eyes closed, her touch calming the beast within him.  He brought his hand to hers, holding it in place on his chest as he slowly opened his eyes, more in control of himself.  He turned to her and spoke with resolve, “This is not your fault.  This happened to  _ us.   _ And we will survive it  _ together. _ ”  

Sansa was about to tell him she was sorry, when he lunged towards her, covering her open mouth with his.  He brought both of his hands up, cradling her head in his hands, not letting go as he poured his raw emotion into her.  When he finally pulled away, she felt light headed as she looked back at him.  She could hear the lump in his throat as he asked, “Can we go home now?”  

Her voice was barely a whisper as she agreed, “Yes.”  

He slid out of the booth and held his hand out for her.  Sansa took her time climbing out, wincing as she stood.  Her pain did not go unnoticed as he gathered her up in his arms and slowly walked her towards the door, leaving this dingy little hiding spot behind them.    


	10. We Only Do That Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember, Little Dove, you’re too high up to be down for long

The days following the loss, Petyr tried to be supportive, though Sansa wasn’t in a place to feel it.  Different sides of her warred for which awful thought and feeling would take over.  Arya notified the rest of the family for her and buffered the calls.  And there were so many calls: Robb realizing about the cleaning advice, Bran from rehab, even Rickon from college.  Arya called a few times, selectively not buffering herself.  

Petyr worked from home as much as he could, contributing to the long mournful silences they shared.  She didn’t blame him; she knew he didn’t know what to say.  She wasn’t exactly approachable.    

What he didn’t say out loud, he tried to communicate in other ways.  He gave the staff a week’s paid vacation to allow him and his wife a level of privacy they hadn’t had prior.  Each day he cooked for her, insisting she eat.  Every time she woke up and found a bottle of tylenol and a glass of water by the bed, anticipating her cramps, it was as if he was telling her that he was there for her and that their loss was a shared one.  

Touching didn’t come as naturally to her as it used to, though he attempted nonetheless.  He would draw her into his arms on the couch like in the early days when he was the one torn open and vulnerable.  Perhaps he was again, just in a different way.  He massaged her neck at night and kissed the back of her hand any time he held it.  When she was still bleeding, she would wear a pad and some big bulky sweatpants to bed.  She would still feel his hand reach over and rest on her hip as though they didn’t have thick fabric and heartache between them.  

The first couple of days she couldn’t return the gestures; she was incapable.  He was sweet and supportive and she knew she should, but she just couldn’t.  At the end of the second day, she had stepped into the shower, only to feel him behind her.  She turned, mortified, not wanting him to see her so bare.  He closed the glass door behind them and held her.  She told him that he should go, that he didn’t need to see the blood wash down the drain and he quickly reminded her that he had seen blood come from her in the shower before.  She reminded him that this was not the same.  He pulled shampoo down and worked it gently into her hair and told her that he was staying and that there wasn’t much she could do about it.  

He was so certain, so set and determined that she found herself feeling _safe._  She had been trying so hard to manage through, put up a brave face, knowing that she didn’t know anything anymore.  His stubborn resistance assured her that in times when one didn’t know how to be, the other would for them.  It was then that _she_ kissed _him_.  It wasn’t exciting and lustful or deep and passionate but it was the first time that they had kissed since Wolfswood--and the first time that she initiated it.  They said nothing afterwards, but she could feel a slight sense of peace in the air as he soaped her back.  

There were times that Sansa told herself that it was ridiculous to be so despondent over a life that she had never met, a baby she had nurtured so minimally.  Dismissing her feelings like that allowed her get out of bed every morning.  But it would not sustain her.  Soon the realization would creep in that her mourning was not only over the baby she was passing, but also for the life she thought she would have.  A week and a half ago she would never have considered such a thing could happen to her.  She had felt on top of the world, godly in her power and strength, and then she woke up one morning, covered in death, completely weak and quite literally, impotent.  

Sansa leaned over the counter, fixing her mascara in the bathroom mirror alongside a dozen other gorgeous women all dolled up for the first night of fashion week.  She smoothed her hands over the electric blue corset she wore and then down over the loose black dress pants.  She had stopped bleeding four days ago, and cramping two days before that.  This was the first time she was wearing anything tighter than stretch pants.  Sansa reasoned that the hard binding of the corset would keep her together if she fell apart.  This was the Baelishes’ first public appearance since the loss.  That’s not to say that it was her first time seeing people, just her first time trying to be normal when she did.  

Loras and Renly had stopped by the house with flowers and chocolates, telling her that she was still “young and hot” and would be “preggers again soon enough.”   _Thanks guys, because that’s what’s on my mind right now,_ she thought to herself.  Judging by the way he sighed as his jaw tightened, Sansa could tell Petyr was equally unimpressed with the boys attempt at comfort.  She thanked them and had them on their way as soon as she could, realizing that they simply didn’t understand.  

No one did.  It wasn’t their fault really, but every attempt they made felt insufficient and insensitive.  In fact, the most understanding she got was from one of the most unexpected places:   _Cersei Lannister_.

Cersei was a force to be reckoned with as she pushed past Jon and Petyr.  Home visits were not typical, and always required invitations and pre-planning, which is why it was so shocking when she showed up on their doorstep, completely alone, without any personal guard, a mere four days after Sansa started to miscarry.  Word got out fast.   Petyr tried to maintain his polite composure to respect the treaty the families had, but it was Sansa who decided to allow Cersei in their den.  

Sansa wanted to know what would possess a head of the Lannister family to take such a risk, be so vulnerable.  She was shocked to find that it was her mother--Catelyn Stark.  The fair-haired goddess lounged on the duvet, as if she owned it.  Sansa didn’t believe she was as comfortable as she projected, but admired Cersei’s mettle in trying.  She was direct with Sansa in explaining the reason for her visit, “Aside from the fact that I care for you, I owe your mother a debt.”  

 _Mom?_ Sansa felt the hair on her arms stand on end.  As a rule, Sansa wouldn’t allow herself to think of her mother much.  She could enjoy a memory for only so long before the crisp, clear image of how she died would ruin it.  

“She was a slippery fish, that one.  Hard to pin down; so professional, it was impossible to get a read on her.  Except of course for her fierce devotion to her family-- _and_ her husband.”  Cersei opened up her purse and pulled out a bottle of spiced rum and took a drink before handing one to Sansa as she continued, “Growing up, everyone wanted a love like Catelyn and Ned.  We all wanted our little wolf-packs.  So when Ned Stark’s longtime friend, Robert Baratheon, noticed me, coming of age, it was _promising._  No one cared that I was seventeen or that he was twenty-five at the time.”  

Petyr was fourteen years Sansa’s senior, an eight year difference felt minor to her.  Sansa wanted to roll her eyes at it, but realized that things may have been different if she had met Petyr only three years prior; she shuddered to think what her parents would have said if they were alive--what her _mother_ would have done.  She asked Cersei how her parents could have accepted the union.  

Cersei laughed as she took a swig, “When you come from nothing, and you’re only hope for feeding your family is a shaky attempt at a modeling career, your parents idea of _acceptable_ becomes quite relative.  Especially if the proposal comes with a Lamborghini.”

Sansa accepted the bottle and took a large gulp, wondering what Petyr might say if he saw them, completely uncouth, drinking rum out of the bottle.  Cersei continued, “Robert solved problems with his fists, and he found a lot of problems with me.  Your mother and I were not close at all, as I appeared an empty-headed model to her at worst, still a child at best.  I was definitely not worthy of an established wife and mother’s attention.”  She took another drink and said, “You see Sansa, this is not the first time you and I have known each other.  I knew you when you were still potty-training.”  

Sansa allowed her mouth to drop, in surprise.  Cersei played with the hem of her dress as she confessed, “You were beautiful by the way, running around the house trying to keep up with your big brother.  Robert and I brought you a small toy bird on the day your sister was born.  We called you _Little Dove_ because of how much you loved it.”  

“Cersei, why did you never tell me any of this before?”  Sansa felt the heat rush to her cheeks.  She fought back tears as she tried desperately to remember as far back as she could, to the smell of her mother as she held her close and hummed her favorite song.  

Cersei looked down at her lap, “It’s not a time of my life that I like reliving.  Jaime would be livid to hear me talk of it.  And there’s no point in upsetting you.  I’m only sharing this now to tell you that I understand your pain.  Part of it anyway.  I won’t lie and tell you that I’ve lost a baby.”  She took a long pull off the bottle and stared back at Sansa, meeting her eyes.  “But I have killed one.”  

Sansa gasped.  She didn’t mean to.  She wanted to project a cool, calm exterior.  She may have been in her study, wearing stretch pants, and losing her child with each gush, but she was still ruler of her domain.  She still needed to play the part of the strong confident woman who didn’t get rattled by shocking statements--the woman she feared she had lost.   

“I met Jaime.  And he was..”  Her eyes sparkled as she lost herself in the memory of what her husband looked like twenty years ago, “ _Magnificent._  And he wanted me.  And I, unfortunately, was pregnant.  Robert finally managed it despite all my clumsy and inexperienced efforts to avoid it.  I didn’t want to forever be linked to Robert Baratheon, and I didn’t want to perpetuate his line, baring brutal little monsters destined to be fat and stupid.”

Sansa felt her fingers twitch with a deep desire to smack her as hard as she could.  She grieved the death of a baby, and Cersei, apparently, had murdered one.  She wanted to scream, _Selfish Bitch!_

Petyr walked by the sliding glass door, no doubt reminding her of his presence in the home.  She knew that he couldn’t hear the conversation as they had tested the soundproofing in the room before deciding to make it her study.  This was purely a protective measure, Cersei Lannister was alone with Sansa in their home, no notice, no staff, and a question as to whether or not without a weapon.  The gentle reminder of his presence, and the circumstances of the situation, helped Sansa maintain a placid facade, despite sitting beside a murderer.  

Cersei handed her the bottle, “Drink.  You’re growing angry.”  

Sansa’s eyes widened, surprised at being caught.  Cersei chuckled, “How could you not be?  I threw away the same thing you treasured.  Take comfort in knowing I paid for it.”  Sansa took a pull from the bottle and held it as Cersei continued, “Jaime got me a prescription to take, neither of us knowing how or when it would happen.  As luck would have it, it was at one of your parents dinner parties when it started: cramping and bleeding.  A lot and fast.  Your mother pulled me aside and tended to me.  I don’t know how, but somehow she _knew_.  She knew that it wasn’t an accident.  I told you she was a slippery fish, very resourceful.”  

Sansa gaped, urging Cersei to continue.  Cersei stared ahead at nothing as she held the bottle loosely in her hand, “She could have ratted me out.  But she didn’t.  I think she knew Robert would kill me.  No matter how Catelyn Stark felt about Cersei Baratheon, near child bride, she decided to keep my secret.  She never told anyone.  Not even after Robert’s death.”  

Cersei cleared her throat and refocused on Sansa, “So you see, I owe your mother a debt.  I can not help you in what you are going through, and I can not pretend to understand what it is like to lose a child you wanted.  But what I can do is tell you that I hated Robert so much that I wanted the half of him growing inside of me dead before it breathed.  I was willing to sacrifice the little piece of myself that made the whole.  As time went on, I found myself grieving for the piece I lost.  You don’t get it back.  I won’t lie to you and tell you that you will, because you don’t.  But I will respect that not only are you grieving with the loss of yourself, but I understand that you also lost a piece of _him._ ”

Sansa sat there, allowing the words to soak in.  Cersei had nailed it.  Unequivocally.  Sansa was mourning for the future lost to her, as well as the innocent and naive part of herself she couldn’t get back.   _And Petyr’s too._

Cersei stood up, wavering a little with a soft giggle.  “Okay.  I’m going to help you, Little Dove.  For Catelyn.  May you return the kindness to Myrcella should she ever be cursed enough to need it.”  

Sansa blinked, “How are you going to help me?”  

“I’m going to do for you what your mother would.  I’m going to be available to you.  And I’m also going to tell you that in seven days, it will be opening night of Fashion Week.  And you will be there, bleeding or not.  Because you have a family to run, however big or small.”  Cersei tucked the bottle back in her bag as she held her chin up, “Our beauty is our strength.  So I expect to see you dressed to the nines, or I will burn every pair of stretch pants you own.  I mean it, I’ll burn them all.”  

Sansa stared back at her, blinking in surprise, wavering as she felt the effects of the alcohol.  Cersei burst out in laughter at the silence and made for the door, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go home and fuck my _magnificent husband_.  Remember, Little Dove, you’re too high up to be down for long.”  

It was that drunken moment on the duvet with Cersei Lannister that helped Sansa paste makeup on her face, straighten her hair, bind herself into the rigid confines of the corset, and _finally_ shave.  She would be lying if she said that it didn’t feel at least a little good to rejoin society.

Cersei stood next to her in the mirror laughing about something Sansa hadn’t caught, looking as young and vibrant as ever.  There were times Sansa forgot that Cersei was seventeen years her senior.  Cersei pulled a little glass vial out of her top and brought it up to her nose, inhaling quickly and fluttering her eyelashes as she asked, “You want a bump?”

Sansa stared at the drug hovering in front of her.  She only did cocaine with Petyr, and on very rare occasions.  She would have questioned the safety of the drug coming from a different source, but she saw Cersei take it herself.  As she considered it, Cersei laughed and capped it before pushing it into her hand, “Everyone does it at Fashion Week.  Here, take it.  Jaime has more.”  

Sansa stuffed it down the front of her corset and smiled back politely.  At mention of Jaime, Sansa thought of her own husband.  She had snuck off to the bathroom to adjust herself and left him behind completely.  She frowned as she realized that since their loss, she had left him behind a lot.  She didn’t mean to; they were just the perfect storm of emotion.  He didn’t seem capable of putting words to his feelings, making his actions do all the communicating.  Conversely, she couldn’t respond to his touch, lost in her own thoughts and feelings.  It was a great victory that she was able to initiate a kiss in the shower that day, but it was not sustained.  Cersei had helped her climb out of hiding and go back up on display, but she couldn’t help Sansa feel worthy enough to reach out and touch her husband.  

Guilt seeped in as it suddenly dawned on her that Petyr was left without her by his side.  She didn’t believe in herself enough to think she would be much assistance to him, but understood that it was expected that she be there.  And she did not want to disappoint.  Cersei flung an arm around her, feeling the effects of the cocaine, as they left the bathroom and approached their men.  

Sansa smiled in the careless embrace of the woman who brought her closer to her mother, until she saw Petyr.  He was standing back-to, hands in his pockets, head tilted to the side, one foot cocked to the side.  He was uncomfortable.  Why?  Surely he wasn’t that upset that she took so long in the bathroom?  All of a sudden, Cersei stiffened and venom dripped from her lips, “That filthy cunt.”  

Sansa turned to look at her quickly, “What?”

“Margaery-fucking-Tyrell.” Cersei spat the words out in a deep whisper.  

Sansa looked forward, the men shifted a little and she was able to see the soft chestnut hair that tumbled over an extremely exposed chest.  She knew that hair and she knew those breasts.   _Margaery-fucking-Tyrell._  Petyr’s date from the gala--the whore in disguise.  Sansa’s own eyes narrowed and her jaw twitched from the tight clench she held it in.  She had promised him that they would get her and make her pay for her betrayal.  Sansa had disappointed him so much lately, this was one area she wouldn’t.  She looked at the way he glanced to the side, his eyes darting around the room looking for her and she told herself, _First things first, stand by him._

She moved from Cersei and glided as quickly as she could without drawing attention to Petyr, running her hand up his back as she wrapped around his arm and spoke, “What did I miss?”  

Petyr looked over at her, surprised by the contact.  It pained her to see him look at her so astonished.  It was a hand on the back and a hug on his arm.  Was it really that shocking that she would initiate that?  Her poor Petyr.  When he didn’t immediately speak, she maintained the facade as she spoke back, “I see I’ve rendered you speechless again.”  She turned playfully to the crowd that had gathered, taking them all in as she spoke, “That’s okay, we didn’t exactly marry each other for our _linguistics._ ”  

Loras and Renly held each other as they stood behind Margaery.  She smiled warmly as she spoke directly to Sansa, “You must be Sansa.  I’ve heard such wonderful things from my brother about you.”  

Sansa felt herself prickle at the idea that Margaery knew anything about her.   _Damn Loras’ loose lips._  She calmed herself, remembering that they only knew what she wanted them to.  Sansa felt a surge of annoyance as she spoke through her forced smile, “They are sweet.  But you and I know each other already, in passing.  We met at the benefit gala you attended.”  

Petyr stiffened in her arms.  Sansa made a show of leaning her head on his shoulder and spoke in a light and unimposing voice, “Didn’t you go with Petyr?”

Petyr offered a soft chuckle as he turned and looked down to Sansa as he spoke, “No.  I couldn’t have taken her.  Before you, I only brought _whores_.”  

Almost everyone’s eyes widened: Jaime and Cersei, Loras and Renly.  Margaery’s heart-shaped face broke out into an award winning grin as she laughed and spoke, “The cat’s out of the bag!”  She spoke to the crowd playfully, “I played a trick on Baelish.”  

Jaime’s eyebrow raised in curiosity.  Cersei looked over at Sansa, who met her eyes in weary.  Loras and Renly averted their gaze as Margaery brazenly admitted, “I knew that I’d be leaving soon for my service and I wanted to make sure that Baelish would treat my bro and his hub right.  So I decided to be super silly and pose as one of his hookers to find out what he was really like.”

She laughed as she spoke, “He didn’t have the slightest idea!”  Petyr’s mouth twitched with hatred as his eyes seared into the woman.  

Sansa hugged him closer as she giggled playfully, “You were just so good at _pretending_ to be a whore!”  

Cersei chuckled in surprise at the dig.  Feeling encouraged, Sansa pushed on, “Mm, that was such a good night.  Petyr said the naughtiest things to me while you were in the bathroom.”  She then turned to him, pulling his face to hers as she spoke against his lips, “You have such a dirty mouth.”  

She kissed him, and he returned the gesture, both aware of the audience before them.  As they pulled away, she made it a point to whisper just loud enough to be heard, “Mm, so naughty.”  

He grinned, so genuine that even she believed it.  His voice was a husky whisper back, “You bring out the worst in me.”  

Loras and Renly cracked a joke about steaming up the place and Jaime and Cersei offered a polite laugh.  Sansa knew that the Lannisters and Tyrells kept themselves restrained, knowing that they were all supposed to put their differences aside for the event.  

Suddenly, without any notice, Margaery reached out to her in a sympathetic voice, “I was so sorry to hear of your loss.”  

Sansa was gutted, fighting to keep her mouth closed as she stood torn open, praying the corset would hold her together.  It was Cersei that had saved her, _again_ , asking,  “How was the Peace-Corps?  Come to find the latest fashions to bring back to all the refugees?”  

Renly and Loras stared back at Cersei and Jaime wrapped his arms around his wife as he smiled and scolded her in jest at a volume that they knew the others could hear, “Now Cersei, it’s not polite to pick at people’s life choices.”  

Cersei winked at Sansa and offered a fake pout, “I don’t care.  She’s ruining Fashion Week, talking about depressing stuff like that.”    

Before anyone could say anything further, the announcement was made for the start of the show.  Everyone filed to their seats and Sansa followed Petyr’s lead.  It was the longest show she had to sit through, wanting nothing but to flee for home.  Petyr held onto her hand and she would have cut it off to not have to hold his.  She had failed him again.  Sansa saw his distress at encountering Margaery and tried to step in and neutralize the threat, but she couldn’t.  She was not back to her fighting form by any stretch of the imagination.  She felt like an embarrassment, a petulant child requiring handholding to behave through the remainder of the show.  

The Baelishes gave fake, meaningless hugs to both the Tyrells and the Lannisters as the evening closed.  Renly rubbed her back and spoke into her ear, “It is good to see you out and about.”  Loras shared the same sentiment as he hugged her, “You look good, Shortcake.”  Margaery smiled as she nodded to her, “It’s been a pleasure.”  Jaime hugged her and spoke so everyone could hear, “Keep a tighter leash on that man of yours.”  And then it was Cersei’s turn for a hug.  She whispered into Sansa’s ear, “Ignore that stupid cunt.”

Their _friends_ left and the limousine pulled up, offering a break from the long arduous evening.  Petyr said nothing as he opened the door for her.  When Sansa stepped in, the little tube of white powder fell out of her cleavage and bounced on the carpeted floor.  Petyr bent down and picked it up, “What is this?”  

He sat down and closed the door behind him, and Sansa told him what he already knew from closer inspection, “Coke.  Cersei gave it to me.”  There was a pause as he turned to her, glaring.  

Sansa rolled her eyes, “I watched her use it; it’s safe.”  He remained silent, squeezing it in his fist.  She couldn’t figure out why he was angry, “What’s wrong?”  

Petyr exhaled through his nose as he looked out the window, away from her.  “We only do that together.”

“I know.”  She answered.  

“And you did it anyway.”  He kept his gaze off of her.  

She thought of all the things they used to do together that they hadn’t been.  It was no wonder he thought she had done it alone.  After the forced intimacy they shared in the public eye, it made sense he would think she could be intoxicated, especially after so long of shying away from his attention.  

Sansa sighed, tired of this.  No-- _exhausted_ of it _._  She didn’t want to be wounded anymore, or see him hurt.  And she certainly didn’t want to keep watching him tend to her, fix the things she couldn’t.  She no longer wanted tenderness and consideration.  She was Sansa Baelish, _goddamn it._  She needed no soft hand or careful mending.  She needed no one.  But she _wanted_ one man.  One, whole, man.  Petyr couldn’t give her his whole-self,  but maybe Littlefinger could.

Sansa slid off of the seat, attempting to stir his baser needs.  Sinking down to the floor, she spoke in a low sensual voice, “I was waiting for you.”

He turned his head at that and watched her pull his knees apart.  “What are you doing?”

She settled herself between his legs and hovered over his lap, smiling, “You know exactly what I am doing.”  

Sansa reached for his belt buckle and he denied her, “Stop.  You’re not yourself.”  

Her eyes darkened as she tugged his belt, “ _Myself_ hurts.  I don’t want to be her right now.”  

Petyr’s eyes widened as he looked down at her.  His voice caught in his throat as he cleared it, “You’re not ready for this.  It’s too soon after.”  

Sansa succeeded in opening his belt, distracting him with her intent gaze, “ _I decide_ when I’m ready.”  

She was unzipping his fly and he begged, “Stop.  I’m trying here.”  

Sansa grazed her hand over his erection, and smiled flirtatiously, “You are trying _very hard_.  For what again?”  

He brought his hand down to hers, “I’m trying to be decent.”  He ground his teeth as he spoke to her, “I want nothing more than to fuck it all away, but I won’t take advantage.  I am trying my damnedest to be good for you.”  

Sansa’s face pursed in agitation, “If I wanted a knight in shining armor, I wouldn’t have married a _drug-dealing pimp._ ”        

Petyr’s cheek twitched in anger as he sneered down at her, “You’re being cruel.”  

“Yes, I am.”  She leaned forward, pressing her face to his, “Because that’s who we are.  We run half this city, side by side.   We are hard and merciless, conniving and cruel.  And we have vowed to be completely inseparable.  But we are _sliding away from each other_.”  She covered his mouth with hers, kissing him desperately.  She plead against his lips, “I want us back.  I want to be who I was.  Help me be her.”  

Petyr closed his eyes, his expression pained, “This isn’t right.”  

“Fuck, _right!”_ She pulled away from him and snorted some of the white powder, staring back defiantly.  She poured some on the back of her thumb and held her hand up by his nose, “Don’t let me do this alone.  Don’t you miss that girl too?”

Petyr twisted his face in pain and he reached down, running his hand over her hair, and down the side of her cheek.  It was clear that he did miss her; each day since Wolfswood stretched out, leaving them further and further from each other.  His voice was hard as he answered, “So much.”

She smiled back, exploiting his vulnerability, “Let me be her for you _._ ”  

He shook his head to say no, but Sansa had followed his eyes down to the tops of her breasts and she knew it was getting more and more difficult for him to keep declining.  His voice was hoarse, “No.  This is an escape.”  

Sansa kept her hand up, “So then let’s escape.  Stop fighting.  Stop being strong.  Give in.   _Let me.._.”  

He lowered his head, hovering his nose above her thumb, so close to conceding.  She pushed him further, “Run away with me, Petyr.  Let’s leave all this behind.  It’ll be here when we get back.”    

She didn’t know what exactly it was that did it, but he let go of his firm resolve to be the good guy and let the criminal out as his head dropped down.  He inhaled sharply, dragging his nose down the length of her thumb.  Her grin was victorious as she gripped either side of his pants and started tugging them down his legs.  He lifted his hips, allowing her to free him.

Before either of them had time to think, she devoured his cock and she heard him fight for air at the sudden feel of her hot wet mouth.  After seconds, he sighed, “ _Uhnh, my-- Sansa_.”  

She enjoyed the encouragement and ownership, happy to please, to not disappoint.  She knew this would not cure their sickness, but it felt like a treatment she would try.  And it was something she finally felt capable of giving him.    

Sansa slowly bobbed up and down his length, swirling her tongue, knowing his preferences.  After a little while, she felt a slight tug at her neck and reluctantly picked her head up.  His eyes, dark and glassy, stared down at her.  His thumb rubbed over her puffy lips as he spoke, voice low and thick, caught in his throat, “ _I’ve needed you._ ”  

Finally.  He actually spoke to her, fitting words to his emotion.  This was not grilled vegetables or backrubs, tylenol or more coddling.  This was raw and real and _necessary_.  Sansa smiled against his thumb and kissed his hand, “I’m right here.”

He let go of her and she dropped her head back down, closing the gap between them.  She felt his fingers thread in her hair and massage her scalp as he moaned.  Sansa smiled into his cock, taking joy in the comfort she gave him and the confidence she rediscovered.  

As she felt Petyr’s thighs flex under her grip she thought to herself:   _Fuck pain.  Fuck grieving and loss.  Fuck feeling utterly weak and useless.  Fuck that whore Margaery Tyrell and the little bitch-boys who fall at her feet.  Fuck Cersei and Jaime Lannister and their perfect marriage without scars.  Fuck lonely, supportive, Petyr.  Fuck sad, childless, Sansa.  Fuck those people I don’t want to be anymore.  Fuck anything in the world that isn’t this feeling right here and now.  Fuck it all._


	11. A Month of Mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew that she was back to herself when she started touching his face.

It would be naive to think for an instant that what happened that night fixed everything between the Baelishes, but it was definitely a start.  Petyr mused over the last month or so with his wife as they slowly rebuilt their relationship, allowing and giving more.  Petyr knew when they lost the baby, Sansa was too beside herself to stand beside him, so he drug her there, holding her in place.  He knew she needed it.  At first, she took no comfort from his touch.  If anything, she suffered through it, trying not to hurt him with rejection.  He had no idea how to tell her that the sheer fact that she did not enjoy his caress was rejection enough.  

Slowly, he saw glimpses of his wife return to the empty Sansa-shell that tiptoed around their house.  He had tried his best to keep touching her, even if she shied from it, knowing that was how they had always connected.  When they didn’t know something, they felt it.  Neither of them knew how to cope with this, how to counsel each other.  But, Petyr reasoned, they knew how to feel each other--how to touch.  He knew for certain that he was doing the right thing after she kissed him in the shower, so he kept at her, knowing she would come around eventually.  

Constantly feeling as though his touch was a burden to her, wore on him.  He was becoming exhausted and tired of trying.  Then Cersei Lannister showed up on their doorstep, completely unexpectedly.  Petyr paced on the patio outside Sansa’s office, ready to break in and save her if the visit was a hostile one.  Luckily, it was not.  He had no idea what the visit concerned, or what the women discussed, but he did notice a change in Sansa.  It was subtle, but monumental at the same time.  He was cooking her dinner when he caught her watching him.  His heart sang at the sight of her eyes peering at him from behind her book.  At night when she was asleep or close to, she would touch her feet to his and set her hand on his chest or back.  She had allowed him to rest his hand on her hip from the start, but this was more.  Petyr finally felt as though she felt some peace.  

Fashion week, however, seemed to bring life back to more than just her eyes.  He remembered the way she flirted with him in front of the other families.  They had not been intimate since their loss, so it was a complete farce, but it was thoughtful of her to pretend nonetheless.  The fact that she wanted to put up a good front in the first place was encouraging.  He had thought for a while that she might be inebriated because of the stark contrast in her behavior.  When they left to go home, she placed herself between his knees and began pleading with him.  He was side-swiped by her sudden ability to express her utter desperation.  It was a desperation he shared.  Petyr resolved to be a strong shoulder to brace herself against as she got her legs under herself again.  He would not use her for his own needs in her vulnerable state.  Except that she was on her knees begging for a connection, and he could never deny her anything.  

When Petyr woke up the next day, completely hung-over and alone, dread sank heavy in his stomach like a boulder rolling off a mountain into a lake.  He threw his lounge pants on and crept to their bathroom, listening against the door to see if she was inside.  At the silence, he knocked and then slowly turned the knob.  She wasn’t there.  She wasn’t in the living room, her study, his office, the kitchen…  She wasn’t home.  Petyr cursed himself for allowing their intimacy the night before.  He prayed she didn’t despise him for giving into his carnal needs, despite her grief.

He threw a coat on and grabbed his car keys as he made for the front door, when it suddenly opened.  She stood in front of him, a vision of energy and life.  She was wearing tennis shorts and a sports bra, sweat beaded all over her body, her hair drenched in her ponytail.  Sansa popped her earbud out and smiled at him as she drank some water, “You’re awake.  I’d hug you, but I’m sweaty.”  

She hadn’t left.  She was not disgusted with him.  The day before, she moved mechanically through the house, only her eyes alive, with the internal war she fought.  On this day, however, the day after she awoke his inner criminal, she was the sunshine again.  Petyr crushed her to him as he said, “I don’t care.”  

She laughed in his arms and  _ hugged him back _ .  He felt her squeeze him to her as she kissed the side of his head.  He held her for as long as he could before she eventually pulled away and laughed at his naked chest now wet with her perspiration.  Her laugh was a sound so foreign in their home, that he stood speechless to bask in it.  

Sansa was not one to work out often, not feeling a need for increased muscle-mass or weight loss.  So her desire to go for an early morning jog took Petyr by surprise.  After their shower, they sat on the barstools in their kitchen and ate breakfast at the counter.  She smiled as she told him that she wanted to get healthier.  He had never felt she was unhealthy, but decided to hear her out.  She told him that everyone could be healthier.  He knew she was dodging a true explanation, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.  The past couple of weeks, he had been trying to be gentle, feeling it would be respectful to allow her to have her private reasons.  But the night before, she stirred something in him,  _ in them _ , and being kind wouldn’t cut it.  

She stood up and started to walk around him.  He rested his elbows on the counter and looked down at his own plate as he spoke in a low smooth voice, “You’re dodging.  You can either tell me or make me find out.”  He heard her pause standing behind him.  He didn’t turn around to see her as he continued, “And Sansa, by now, you know that I always find out.”  

He watched her plate set down next to his and felt her arms hook up under his, palms resting on his chest, as she laid against his back, her head set between his shoulder blades.  He couldn’t contain his grin at her warmth; she was the only woman he knew who melted for his harder side.  In a whisper, he heard her speak into his back, “Maybe if I were healthier, we wouldn’t have lost it.”  And his heart sank.  He gripped her hands in his against his chest and shook his head as she spoke again, “Maybe if I never called that hit on Danny and her baby--maybe I’m being punished.”  

He tried to turn around to face her, but she wouldn’t let him, not wanting to be seen.  Petyr brought her fists up and kissed them as he told her, “No.  You did nothing to deserve what had happened.  And you and your body are perfect, there is nothing  _ deficient _ about you.  Not in a million years.”  He almost said, “These things happen,” but stopped himself.  He hated it when he heard the doctor say it.  He had hated it so much that he lost control of himself and strangled the man to death in his exam room.  

Sansa picked up her head and slowly let go of him, allowing him to turn to face her and see a slight smile form on her face as she regained her strength.  Her voice was lighter as she said, “Well, we’ll never know.  I can’t bring Danny’s baby back, or ours.  But I can eat better and exercise.  I can be stronger.  So that’s what I’m doing.”  

Petyr spread his knees and pulled her closer to him, resting his head on her chest, letting Sansa hug him.  Her decision to jog and carb-fast away her vulnerability sounded silly to him, but he couldn’t argue with the results.  She was getting her color and strength back.  As he snuggled into her embrace, he realized something, “You want to try again.”  

“Yes.  As soon as we can,” she spoke into his hair.

“You are rushing this.”  He gripped her harder, worried she would pull away.  He knew it was risky confronting her, but he was concerned that she was not yet emotionally stable enough to make this decision.  Perhaps he wondered if he was ready himself, though what she said next cleared him of any doubt.  

She didn’t pull away. Her voice was melodic as she explained, “Yes, I am.  I made my mind up.  I was ready to have a child before.  That has not changed.  I’m not going to suddenly stop desiring to have a baby because I could not have that baby.  I mourn for it and  _ I will always _ mourn for it.  The child I will never meet.  But that does not mean that I want to postpone meeting our others.”  

“ _ Others?” _  Petyr picked his head up and gave her a sideways smile.  

She leaned down and pressed her lips to his, kissing him slowly and gently.  When she lifted her head, Petyr felt dizzy from her sentiment.  She smiled down at him and said, “Yes, others.”  

It had been decided, and Petyr would not disappoint.  He had not mourned the baby itself as much as what it had meant to them, their relationship, their family.  He had grieved the loss of a future he thought they would have and then feared they would never have.  What had affected him the most, however, was the loss of Sansa.  He desired her above all else in the world, fought to have her, fought to keep her, and cherished every moment they shared.  Her absence was what tore him apart, and her holding him in their kitchen that morning, promising her return to him, was what pieced him back together.  

It had been about a month since that day and they only got stronger.  She smiled into his touch, and initiated her own as well.  They talked so much more than they had before, unable to wait until they saw each other at the end of the day.  Petyr would show up at Stark-Naked with Highgarden coffee and she would bring work to the Mockingbird, sprawling out on the couch in his office, placing calls, and flipping through artist portfolios.  

He knew that she was back to herself when she started touching his face.  He could always tell that she was completely at peace with him and their life when she would trace his cheek or brow with her fingers, pet his goatee with her thumb, or cup his cheek.  Their marriage was a sturdy log cabin, torn down and rebuilt in impenetrable brick and mortar.  

It reminded him a lot of their first couple of months of marriage, constantly by each other’s side, and completely  _ celibate _ .   

Petyr remembered when she told him that she wouldn’t let him inside her, and remembered thinking about how contrary that was to her confession in the kitchen that she wanted to start conceiving as soon as possible.  Sansa had stopped by the Mockingbird unexpectedly with lunch and he turned in his chair, pulling her in between his legs, wrapping his arms around her, inside her long coat as he rested his head on her belly.  He sighed into her, inhaling the soft rain scent she emanated.

She ran her fingers through his hair and chuckled, “Rough day?”  He grumbled an agreement into her stomach as he took pleasure in the way she pet him.  His listened her speak, “Well, take a break, eat some lunch.”  

And then he got a naughty thought.  He was inches away from her pussy, they were all alone, and she was stronger now.  He figured he would try, not looking up at her in case she rejected him.  Petyr brought his hands back around and started unfastening her pants as he spoke, “I’d rather eat something else.”  

He opened the button and pulled the zipper down to reveal light pink silk panties with little Eiffel Towers on them.  He grinned as he leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the material, and feeling her shiver at the contact.  She didn’t say anything, but kept petting his hair.  He took her body’s response to his kiss as her consent.  Petyr pulled her pants down, mid thigh and then slid his hand under the waistband on one hip and then picked at the material on the other with his teeth.  Sansa giggled down at him as he pulled her panties down to meet her pants.  Giggling was good, giggling meant he wasn’t pushing for anything she didn’t want to give.  

Petyr felt his cock twitch as he stared at the neatly groomed line of fire that sprinkled down her seam.  He inhaled the scent of her natural musk as his slid his hands back up her thighs, around her hips, and settled on the curves of her ass.  Finally, he let himself look up at her.  Sansa ran her fingers through his hairline and her eyes sparkled as she smiled down at him.  He brought his mouth to her sex and swiped his tongue over the length of her seam, feeling goosebumps form on her skin under his grip.  He smiled as he slid his tongue in between her folds and tasted her tangy juices, deciding if he could only ever taste one thing again in his life, he would choose her.  Petyr listened to her breathing as he found her nub with the tip of his tongue.  

He sucked and circled her, feeling her squirm in his arms and pant above him.  She was gushing with wetness, the natural lubricant that worked the best with his rock hard cock, threatening to tear through his pants.  He wanted to plunge into her, sink up to his hilt, and watch her mewl and moan under his weight as he pumped into her.  Thinking about it made his tongue work faster and her juices drip more.  Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.  

Petyr froze, listening to Varys’ voice on the other side of the door, asking to come in.  He picked his head up and said, “Go--” 

Sansa cut him off, putting a finger on his lips.  Her grin was devilish as she whispered to him, “Let him in.”  

Petyr cocked an eyebrow at her, “We’re kind of busy here.  Unless you’re bored?”  

Sansa chuckled, “Not in the slightest.”  She reached down running her thumb over his goatee and picking it back up, glistening with her wetness, “You messy boy.”  

Petyr watched her bring her thumb to her mouth and he dropped one of his hands to press on his erection, trying to relieve the ache that was building.  He didn’t know where she was going with this, so he shook his head a little and leaned forward, swiping over her nub again.  

She shivered and gripped his shoulders, “Let’s teach him a lesson.”

“He knocked.”  Petyr furrowed his eyebrows, not understanding what they were supposed to be teaching him.  Her smile was so deep and mischievous, he couldn’t refuse her.  He made sure her long coat covered her from behind completely, resting his palms on her hips, not letting her go, he hollered, “Come in.” 

Varys opened the door and glided in, looking at his phone as he talked.  His breath caught when he looked up and saw Sansa grinning over her shoulder at him, and Petyr’s drenched face, pussy-level as he peered around her to Varys.  There was a silence as Varys realized what he walked in on and Petyr grew irritated.  His dick was itching to be freed, and his wife was exposed to him, wanting his tongue to pleasure her.  He growled, “What is it, Varys?”

Varys looked at his phone and started to mumble for a second and then Sansa spoke over her shoulder through her smile as she pet Petyr’s face, “Sorry Varys, Petyr gets so grumpy when people interrupt his  _ lunch _ .”  

Fuck.  She was hot.  He couldn’t help it, his fingers dug into her hips as he strained to not bring his mouth back to her.  Varys must have seen the agitation on Petyr’s face because he cleared his throat and spoke instantly, “The Lannisters, they want to know if you want to go in on a subdivision project with them.”  

_ Subdivision project?  What the fuck? _  Petyr couldn’t think about things like that.  Sansa sighed and cupped Petyr’s cheek, guiding him back to her.  He hesitated for only a second before he brought his lips back to her seam.  She held his head to her as she sighed with pleasure and spoke over her shoulder, “He’ll discuss this with you later.  He’s still hungry right now.”  

Petyr’s need for her amplified as he heard her words before the door shut.  He brought his tongue to the top of her nub, towards the left, where she was always more sensitive and chuckled as she bucked into him.  He felt her ass flex under his hands and he drove his face further into her, to give her the pressure she needed as he sucked and licked her.  Petyr wrapped one of his arms around her, holding her steady as she started to unravel.  He brought his other hand around, sliding his fingers around her opening.  She was moaning and panting uncontrollably from her orgasm, though was able to utter, “No,” when he went to push his fingers inside of her.  He dropped his hand instantly, but kept sucking and licking as she finished, jelly in his arm.  

When she found her footing, getting more stable, she smiled warmly at him.  His curiosity was bubbling as he looked up at her, noticing the hard peaks poking through her shirt, indicating her pleasure.  He asked, “I thought you liked it when I rubbed you from the inside?”  

“I do.”  Her voice was throaty.  She let go of him slowly and started pulling up her underwear and her pants.  “But you can’t be inside me.  The doctor told me we needed to wait a month to try to conceive.”  

Petyr did remember him babbling something about being able to start trying as soon as a month as he tried to tell Petyr that it was okay.  The doctor spoke so fast, rambling as he attempted to convince Petyr not to kill him, that most of what he said was lost on Petyr.  He sighed remembering how he had to wait in the exam room with the dead doctor for Bronn to come and dispose of him.  Petyr brought himself back to that moment with Sansa as he smirked and replied, “That’s not how babies are made.  I mean, I’m very good with my fingers, but…”  

She swatted at him as she bent down, wiping his mouth with the napkin from lunch.  He smiled at her, enjoying how she took care of him.  She kissed his forehead, her voice sultry as she replied, “Yes you are.”  She leaned further in, speaking into his ear before she gently bit the bottom of it, “I want to be so tight for you when you can finally cum inside me.”  

Petyr’s cock rubbed against his zipper painfully, needing to be inside her.  He groaned, “ _ Sansa. _ ”  

She lowered herself, sitting back on her heels as she unzipped his pants.  Petyr shivered as he felt the soft skin of her hand pull his dick out and start rubbing him.  “I could pull out.”  

Sansa laughed and leaned forward and licked the length of him before saying, “Sure thing, Fast Eddy.  You’ll  _ pull out  _ alright.”  

Petyr huffed as his fingers drove into the arms of his chair while she took him in her mouth, sucking.  “I’m not a teenager, cumming in my pants prematurely.  I do have some control.”  

Sansa picked up her head, her lips glossy with saliva and precum as she purred, “I like it when you lose control.”  

He let go of his chair and brought his hands to her head, grabbing her hair in a ponytail, gently tugging as she bobbed.  She moaned encouragement into his cock as he gripped her hair.  He rested his head on the back of his chair as his breathing grew more labored.  “I mean it Sansa.  I can control myself enough to get out in time.”

She pulled her head up and worked him with her hand as she deflected him, “Just think of it this way: This starts the ‘Month of Oral’ and when it’s all over, my pussy will be so tight for you.”  

Petyr sighed as she covered him with her mouth again, realizing that she had made up her mind.  Fuck that doctor and his advice, Petyr wished he could kill him all over again.                 

It had definitely been a long month since fashion week.  Head was great, but there was something to be said about being buried inside his wife as his eyes rolled back in ecstasy.  He told himself to just be happy for the way they had recovered, finding an even deeper connection than what they had before.  Sansa was reborn: working out daily, eating healthy, getting out more.  Petyr admired his young wife’s strength, not staying down for long.  

As Petyr was lost in his memories of their road to recovery, he was tuning in and out of his conversation with Loras and Renly.  The three of them met at White Harbor Warehouse.  Workers unloaded crates and Petyr reminisced over his first date with Sansa, of holding her close and daring to let his hands wander over the dips and rounds of her body for the first time.  He had no concept of how far they would come from that night.  The side of his mouth twitched as years worth of warm and naughty memories flashed by his eyes.  

Petyr licked his lips as he pictured the way Sansa padded around the house in sweatpants and tight tank tops that crept up her stomach.  He sighed at the knowledge that a month felt like an eternity with such constant temptation rubbing against him every night.  He shook himself out of the memory, bringing himself back to White Harbor.    

He had gone there not too long ago to meet with the boys after the re-emergence of Margaery Tyrell.  He had known for years that she pretended to be his escort, though did not know why.  They confirmed at fashion week that it was to research him because they would be dealing with him more since the retirement of Olenna.  Olenna Tyrell was their grandmother and  _ was _ their right hand.  She was as old as time and finally losing her marbles.  The boys had placed her in a wonderful retirement home to live out her days in senility.  

Petyr was thankful at the loss of her, as she was definitely a strong chess mate.  He had made a lot of money off the Tyrells since she was taken away from the table.  It made sense that the boys would want to look into him.  Though that didn’t mean that Petyr would accept it.  He scolded them both, telling them that sending their sister to play Pretty Woman was not how the adults did business.  Both Loras and Renly scowled back at the barb.

“I thought it was clever.”  Loras pouted.  

Renly sighed and rolled his eyes, “Apparently, all the best business decisions aren’t made while you’re drunk hanging out with your faghag.”  

Petyr stifled a grin as he saw Loras pucker his face at Renly, who in turn sighed again and said, “I mean, sister-in-law.”  Petyr had always preferred Renly over Loras, perhaps it was his age.  Renly also had a genuine desire to learn the business, even if he was slow to learn.  Sansa told Petyr that he couldn’t favor one over the other when it came to dealing with “the boys,” that they would be able to tell and then there would be a resulting tantrum.  

Now, weeks later, standing over the crate of firearms, looking at the couple gazing down bewildered but faking comprehension, Petyr found himself smiling at Sansa’s counsel.  He had always appreciated her innate knowledge about people.  For someone who preferred solitude, or the company of her family at best, she knew a lot about working with people.  Petyr had to get kicked out of numerous foster families to learn as much as he had.  He itched to touch her as he thought of how  _ advanced _ she was; how quickly she could surpass him.  

“Where’s Shortcake, anyway?”  Loras asked

Petyr realized that they had changed the subject to avoid discussing things they didn’t know about.  He allowed it, “Shopping.”  She told him that she was going shopping with Cersei.  They had been spending a lot of time together lately.  Petyr wasn’t sure how he felt about that.  He trusted that she knew their friendship wasn’t a true one, that she couldn’t trust anyone outside of their family.  Even still, he decided to keep a close eye on their budding friendship, should she need any assistance from him.  

Loras groaned, “I wish I could go shopping.”  

Renly shook his head at him, “You are.”  He then looked at Petyr, “Same price as last time.”  

Petyr shook his head, “No.  Fifteen percent increase.”  

“Fifteen!”  Loras exclaimed as he looked up from the guns.  

“It’s the ‘I Tried to Dick Baelish’ tax.  All Tyrells are charged an additional fifteen percent until I decide to stop being offended by your childish business techniques.”  Petyr glowered at them.  

Loras’ face puckered sourly as he said, “It’s been a month.”  

“Since I found out.”  Petyr added, not including that he had already known for years.  He could get them to pay more for a while if they thought the wound was fresher.  

Renly quipped, “Now look who's being childish.”  Loras laughed and ran a hand over Renly’s back.  

Petyr grinned, “You are welcome to find another arms dealer if the price of doing business is too steep for you.  Though good luck finding another in the city.”  

Renly sighed and looked back at Loras who shared his gaze.  Loras pursed his lips and inhaled through his nose, “Fine.  For now.”  

“We will not continue to pay for a decision made years ago.”  Renly resolved.  

_ Yes you will.   _ Petyr sniggered, “Thank you for being such good sports about it.”  Petyr placed the lid back on the crate, “You will receive them by the end of the week.”  

“End of the week!”  Loras whined.  

Petyr stopped himself from rolling his eyes as he presented a placid smile to educate them with.  “The guns need to be reconditioned.  Serial numbers must be scraped off, repainted and buffed out.  New serial numbers must be applied.  This takes time.”  

“Of course.”  Renly answered quickly, acting as if he knew this.  Petyr couldn’t help but wonder,  _ how did they not know all of this? _  Olenna.  She handled everything.  She was a valuable player to lose.  

Petyr’s phone buzzed,  _ broccoli or peas? _

_ Whatever you prefer,  _ he typed back, realizing she must be home already.  

Within a second his phone buzzed again,  _ If I knew what I preferred I wouldn’t have asked.  I need to know what to tell the staff.   _

Petyr smiled at the frustration in her message, picturing her pursed lips.  He concluded with Renly and Loras and left in his Lexus.  His phone buzzed again in his cupholder, a notification from his calendar read:   _ 30 Days Done: Time to Cum. _  Petyr gripped the steering wheel harder, grinning so wide his face hurt as he pushed the gas peddle further, speeding up.    


	12. Locker Room Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s important to get your hands dirty from time to time.

“Seriously, Jon.  I will be fine.  It’s just a gym.”  Sansa rolled her eyes at him as she got out of the car.  She heard a second door slam and looked up to find Jon looking back at her, his eyebrows wrinkled in frustration.  

He told her that this gym was not any regular gym, though she knew that already.  This used to be Kahl Drogo’s.  For an instant, her memory flashed to shooting him in the head with Mr. Baelish and then in the heart with Mrs. Baelish as he crouched behind the cover of her brother’s shitty rental and Drogo’s Hummer.  Sansa rolled her eyes to act as if she was not momentarily taken away by the memory of the execution.  “Jon, stop.  Cersei asked me to meet her here.  If Cersei Lannister would come here, it can not be that bad.  It’s just a gym.”  She smiled, “Besides, I have you to protect me.”  

Jon reminded her that people like her and Cersei didn’t go to gyms like this, they had country clubs to work out in.  He wasn’t wrong. She had no intention of working out here, and guessed Cersei didn’t either.  Why she called her here was a mystery.  

Sansa sighed and reached back in the car, pulling her coffee out of the cup holder, wincing at the heat, wishing she got a sleeve for it.  She typically got a medium--cream only, though today, she just got a small.  Sansa was trying her best to be as healthy as she could: cutting back on caffeine and alcohol, taking folic acid regardless of not being pregnant, exercising and eating lean proteins and veggies.  She reasoned that not only would she create the best body for a baby to grow in, but that it may help her get her cycle back.  It had been long past the month she thought it would take to get her period again after the loss, and still nothing.  

Sansa remembered back to the night their month was supposed to be up.  She was in the pantry looking for some aluminum foil when Petyr burst through the door with a mischievous grin on his face.  She turned around to face him, amused by his energy when he practically leapt across the small pantry closet and backed her against the shelves.  His hands went for her shirt, pulling it up and over her in one quick motion.  His mouth instantly went to her breasts, tongue running along the line of her demi cups.  His hands gripped her hips and held her in place as he kissed a trail down her stomach to her pants, unfastening them and sliding them down her legs.  Sansa looked down at him bewildered, “I take it you’re in the mood…”  

Having yanked her underwear down and unbuckled his pants, he handed her his phone as he pulled his cock out and lifted her leg.  Sasna felt the head of his erection rub along her opening as she read the words she had typed in a month prior, _30 Days Down:  Time to Cum._  Petyr was just about to slide inside when she shook her head and said, “No!”  

He halted suddenly, looking up at her, millimeters from being inside her after so long.  His face was pained as he hovered at her opening, and breathed, “ _What_?”  

“Not yet.”  Sansa breathed as she gripped his shoulders.

There was a pause as Petyr clearly tried to reign himself in.  And then he suddenly dropped her leg and pulled up his pants, tucking himself back in place.  He was turned away from her as he spoke, “I don’t like being toyed with.  You and the doctor both said a month.”  

“Yes.”  Sansa started pulling her pants up.  “But _thirty_ is an arbitrary number--there isn't a science to getting a cycle back on track.  I wasn’t thinking about that when I was playing around with your calendar.”  She sighed, “As you know, I haven’t had a period yet.”

He looked annoyed as he stood in the doorway, “Well, why haven’t you yet?”  

If he thought he was annoyed, his attitude was starting to really piss her off.  She spat back at him, “Gee, I don’t know Petyr.  Maybe because I lost a _fucking baby_ and it takes time for a body to get back to normal from that.  It’s not like I can set an alarm for my biology.”  

There was a brief silence and then Petyr turned away from the door and advanced on her, pulling her into his arms.  “I’m sorry.  I am.  I just _miss_ you.”  

“I’m right here.”  She pledged against his neck.  

She felt him sigh over her shoulder as he explained, “You just seem so...so... _fine._ ”    

“What do you mean?”  She ventured.  

Petyr pulled away from her, staring the mossy green circles of his eyes deeply into her own, “You don’t seem _affected_ by our inability to…”

“Fuck?”  She asked, with a smile on her face.  His eyes narrowed at her and his mouth tightened into a hard line.  Sansa leaned forward and placed a light peck on his jaw, “I’m very _affected_ .  I just know that the more I show you how much I miss--” Sansa reached down and cupped his erection, massaging it with her fingers as she continued, “ _you,_ the more you’ll try to give me--”  

Instantly, her mouth was covered by Petyr’s.  Her hand let go of his generous bulge as he backed her against the shelves again.  He brought his hands to her hair, cradling her head, as he pressed his body to hers.  She couldn’t help the excitement that escaped her lips as she gasped at his desire.  She was about to make herself push him away when he pulled back and gently bit her lip before saying, “I’d give you anything.”  

Sansa stared back and blinked, trying to think of what to say.  Finally, she leaned forward and set her cheek against his as she confided, “I know.  And it’s because of that, that it’s my job not to ask you for anything we’d regret later.”  

She felt him nod his reluctant agreement against her cheek before letting go of her and turning around to leave the pantry.  He stopped in the doorway again, “Sansa, I’ll eat you like I’m hungry for nothing else as long as you want, but know that I'm only truly satiated by our _deeper_ connection.”  

He turned to walk away and she processed what he was saying.  Slowly, she felt the heat of anger well inside her as she stormed out of the pantry, “What exactly are you telling me?  That only _fucking_ will please you?  Are you _pouting_?!”  

Petyr stopped mid stride and slowly turned to face her before sighing and slumping his shoulders down in defeat, “Yes.  I am.  I miss you, Sansa.  I miss touching you in ways that no one else can.  I miss feeling you in ways that are only for me.  I miss the desperate way you needed me too.  I miss _everything._ ”  

Sansa stepped forward and held her arms out to him.  He slowly conceded, allowing her to hold him snug to her.  She purred into his ear, “I miss you too.”  She kissed his cheek and continued, “ _And_ you do touch me in ways that are only for you.  If you think I let anyone else lick me, let alone grab my naked ass, you must not think much of me.”  

She felt him chuckle into her shoulder as he said, “I’m sorry.  I just get so crazy when I can’t have all of you.”  

She feathered kisses over his cheek and jaw as he squeezed her, his voice a low rumble as he said, “You are all mine.”

Sansa soothed him, “Always, Petyr.   _Always_.”    

It had been a rough month, but as time stretched on, it was only getting rougher.  It had to easily be a week and a half, maybe even two by now since the pantry.  Where the hell was her period?  She had gone online and researched how long it took a woman to get her cycle back and the time varied so vastly that she felt less informed than when she first started looking.  

Sansa did what she knew how to do, which was to just keep moving.  She told herself to keep working hard on herself so that when the time came she would be in her peak physical form.  And she tried to distract herself, which Cersei was usually very helpful with.

Sansa held her cup from the bottom trying to avoid burning her hand as she walked through the front door of the gym, Jon trailing behind.  She scanned the room, looking past the cardio machines to the weightlifters.  Sansa felt her face heat and her mouth water as she watched their muscles bulge with each lift and press.  She couldn’t help but think about the way Petyr’s biceps strained against his shirt whenever he lifted her onto the counter, or when he’d pin her down, lowering himself onto her.  Goddamn, she missed the feel of her husband.  Suddenly, she felt Jon’s elbow jab into her arm.  

She looked up in annoyance, “What?”  Jon chuckled and told her that she was going crazy without Petyr’s _attention_.  Sansa glared at him and asked, “How do you know that we aren’t--”  Sansa looked around the room to ensure that no one was in hearing distance.  People kept passing by, not allowing her the opportunity to finish her sentence.  Jon chuckled even more as he signed back to her that there were a couple of tell-tale signs that Sansa “wasn’t getting any.”  

Jon told her that she was much more irritable and argumentative, as well as she noticed the opposite sex more, even ones that were not her type at all.  Jon also gestured that she was a lot quieter at bedtime now.  Apparently, he could hear her from the guest house where he lived.  Sansa huffed and told Jon to shut up, hating that he was right.  He cracked a wide smile as he pointed out, “See?”

Sansa refocused and realized she didn’t see Cersei anywhere.  She texted her, praying this was not some sort of set up.  She was growing fond of the woman who knew her when she was so young, but that didn’t change that she was a Lannister.  Sansa would never be able to fully trust her.  Her phone buzzed with Cersei’s reply, _girl’s locker room._

Sansa looked over at the women’s locker room and noticed the “Out of Order” sign and stifled a groan.  A gym could not be open if one of the gender-specific locker rooms was “out of order.” Something was happening in there and Cersei must have paid the owner a wad of cash to keep things running smoothly regardless.  Sansa picked up her phone and showed it to Jon.  He looked up at the sign and drew the same conclusion, allowing an exasperated groan to escape before he crossed his arms and leaned by the door.  She loved that she didn’t have to tell him to make sure no one came in, he just knew.  

As Sansa walked into the entryway, she noticed a small vending machine attached to the wall that held all sorts of items like tampons, sanitary napkins, deodorant, tiny bottles of body spray, and _condoms._  Her eyes hovered on the condoms.   _Only a shithole gym like this, in this seedy part of town would have condoms at the ready for easy hookups like a fucking dance club,_ she thought to herself.  Sansa started to walk away, rolling her eyes in dismissal.  And then she stopped herself and thought about Petyr.  

What was supposed to be the “Month of Oral” was turning into the “Month-And-A-Half of Oral.”  Petyr didn’t like condoms, and Sansa was okay with that as she wasn’t really a fan of them either.  It reminded her too much of all the times she suffered through the touch of someone she despised.  Sex with Petyr was not supposed to be reminiscent of the time in her life before him.  She took a couple of steps backwards and looked at them again, thinking about the first time they were intimate.  She insisted he wear a condom then, not knowing what he would come to mean to her.  Even with the barrier of the condom between them, he connected with her, telling her to “stay with him.”  He was stronger than any memory or nightmare she faced.  

Sansa set her scalding hot coffee on top of the machine as she dug out some change, and quickly inserted it, selecting the condoms.  She yanked the strip of three from the machine and folded them up into her purse, looking around to make sure that no one saw her.  Single-Sansa didn’t care who saw her grab things like that, married-trying-for-a-baby-Sansa didn’t want to feel the need to explain anything to anyone.

Sansa took a deep breath and picked up her coffee, shaking her hair out with her free hand, regaining her composure.  She knew she was about to see Cersei, and Sansa would not let on how vulnerable she was feeling, even if Cersei was shaping up to be a good ally.  As she pushed through the second door to the locker room, Sansa saw Cersei lounging on the changing bench, her legs crossed, leaning back on one arm as she sipped out of a flask covered in glitter and white leather.  Her blond locks hung loosely behind her, ending at her elbow, as she spoke to someone out of view, “You wouldn’t be in this situation, dear, if you kept that dirty cunt of yours closed.”  

At the sound of the door clicking shut, Cersei looked up at Sansa and smiled, “There you are.”  

Sansa plastered a confident smirk on her face as she advanced toward Cersei, “Here I am.”  As she rounded the corner, she saw Cersei’s daughter, nineteen year old Myrcella, pinning a woman up against the lockers.  Sansa couldn’t see the woman’s face, as it was covered in sweaty, matted hair.  Myrcella held a knife to her stomach.  Sansa remained calm, though felt her muscles flex in awareness of the potential violence.  Myrcella looked as scared as the woman she was holding.  Cersei slapped the bench beside her as she smiled at Sansa, “Come, sit.”  

Sansa relaxed her posture and sauntered over to Cersei, giving off a comfort level she didn’t truly feel.  She sat down and accepted the flask handed to her, noticing that it wasn’t glitter on the flask, but diamond chips.  Cersei smiled when she noticed Sansa looking at it, “Jamie spoils me.”  

Sansa let a light chuckle out, “I’d say.”  She looked over at Myrcella, edgy in her movements, meeting the squirm of the woman in fierce opposition.  Sansa took a sip, feeling the bitter taste on her lips; she hadn’t really drunk alcohol in weeks.  She did, of course, allow herself the occasional glass of wine with dinner or a sip off of Petyr’s scotch if he already had a glass going.  She fought hard not to pucker her face at the taste as she asked, “So, why is Myrcella the one doing this?  Don’t you have people?”  

Cersei chuckled and said, “Because, Little Dove, I want my daughter to learn that there is more to this life than just diamonds and leather.  It’s important to get your hands dirty from time to time.  Especially when you are trying to teach someone some respect.”  

“Respect?”  Sansa cocked an eyebrow at Cersei.  

She smiled back at Sansa and said, “This disease-infested whore fucked Jaime’s cousin, Daven.”  The hair that had been covering the woman’s face fell away from it and revealed _Daisy_.  Daisy, who had been given second chances.  Daisy, who had been told to leave town.  Fuck.  Myrcella wavered in front of her, clearly not used to such an aggressive stance.  It was one thing to pretend to harm someone, but as time wore on, it was becoming more and more obvious that not every woman in the locker room was going to walk out of her own accord.  Cersei sighed as if bored with the topic, “Normally, I wouldn’t care.  But I like his wife.  She’s a treat.  And Daven gave her herpes after banging this slut.”  

Sansa felt the weight of what Cersei was telling her; Daisy was going to die.  Sansa thought of the message Cersei was trying to send the world, and what she was trying to teach her daughter:  Respect.  She didn’t have to wonder what Petyr would do, as he had only avoided what came naturally out of respect to her.  Daisy had been a favorite, but her stupidity ruined her on so many levels.  Cersei turned to her and smiled, “I’m told you know her.”  

Sansa sighed, “Unfortunately.”  

“So you won’t be disappointed if we _handle_ this affair?”  Cersei asked.  

Wow.  Cersei Lannister was checking in with Sansa, respecting her possible interests.  Sansa looked straight ahead at Daisy who was whimpering and pleading, and her voice hardened as she said, “Of course not.  Do what needs to be done.”

“Finish it.”  Cersei threw her hand up to Myrcella, sanctioning the death of Daisy.  

Myrcella trembled, her head darting back and forth between Daisy and her mother.  “Wh-what?”  

“You heard me, my sweet girl.”  Cersei sat up right, nodding her head, encouraging her daughter.

Myrcella teetered a bit with nerves as she turned back to Daisy, who took the opportunity to push her back and bolt for the door.  On instinct, Sansa pulled the lid off her coffee and jumped up, tossing the contents in Daisy’s face, burning it.  Daisy fell, flailing on the tile floor, as she screamed in pain.  Cersei laughed heartily as she pulled out her cell phone and spoke into it, “Turn up the music, now.  It’s getting loud in here.”  She must have been talking to the manager or someone because suddenly Sansa could faintly hear the music from the gym beating through the walls to the locker room.  

Sansa reached in her purse and pulled out the pocket knife Arya had given her years ago and unfolded it.  Her jaw tightened and her lips pursed, deciding to finish the job.  Sansa stood up and walked over to Daisy before she looked back at Myrcella.  The girl had rushed to her mother’s side, embarrassed.  Cersei stroked her hair and cooed, “It’s okay, sweet girl, it was just your first time.”  

Sansa spoke to Myrcella, “Hold her hands.  That’s all.  You don’t have to do anything else.”  

Cersei nodded in agreement and gently pushed Myrcella forward.  The girl got on the floor and leaned over Daisy, struggling to get control of her hands.  She managed to subdue Daisy, holding her hands down to either side of her head.  Sansa was aware of her audience, and the importance of demonstrating power.  She crouched down and slashed Daisy’s right cheek, “For the chance I gave you long ago.”  She then sliced her left cheek, “For the chance Petyr gave you too.”  And then Sansa brought the knife down to her throat and slowly pushed the blade in as Daisy’s legs writhed on the floor, “Because you were more trouble than you were worth.”  

Sansa carefully cleaned the blade on Daisy’s shirt, inspecting her hands to make sure she didn’t get any on her hands.  She looked over at Myrcella, who still held Daisy in place even though she had stopped moving.  Sansa’s heart pounded in her ears as she listened to Cersei, sounding as though she was underwater as she spoke to Myrcella, “Get up.  Now.  Don’t let the blood touch you, she’s dirty.”  

Sansa held still, crouched over the body, as Cersei helped Myrcella up off the floor.  Unexpectedly, a wave of nausea hit Sansa and she lurched forward, breaking into a sprint in her high heels for the nearest bathroom stall.  She coughed as she heaved the contents of her stomach into the bowl.  Sansa felt a set of hands pull her hair, and heard Cersei scoff over her shoulder, “Well, that solves that mystery.”

Sansa spit as much of the vomit in her mouth out as she rocked back on her heels and looked over at Cersei holding her hair, “Huh?”  

“You’re not bulimic after all.”  Cersei shrugged.  “I always wondered how you keep such a nice figure.  I guess that’s not it.  Must be plain old self-discipline.”  

Sansa glared at her, feeling her insides toss and turn.  She was about to open her mouth to tell her off when Cersei let go of her hair, smoothing it down her back as she waved her other finger around and said, “You suck at this too much to be doing it daily.”  

Again, Sansa was at a loss for words as she stared back at Cersei.  She blinked a couple of times, holding Cersei’s steady gaze and then flinched in surprise when Cersei closed her eyes and let out a loud cackling laugh.  Sansa found herself smirking despite her efforts not to as she looked back at Cersei.  She stood up slowly, feeling her legs shake under her, flushing the toilet on her way up.  She rolled her eyes at Cersei, “Shut up.”

Cersei’s laugh quieted as she walked back towards Myrcella, “No such luck, Little Dove.  You’re never living this down.”  

Sansa walked over to the sink and rinsed her mouth out at Cersei spoke, “I’m actually surprised.  I stopped puking after my second kill, you’ve got to be further along than that.  I thought you would have been used to this stuff by now. ”  

 _Me too,_ Sansa thought.  Perhaps she was affected because it was Daisy?  That didn’t seem like it was reason enough to her, however.  Sansa grabbed some paper towels and tried to act normal, grinning back at her, “Why, Mrs. Lannister, I couldn’t imagine what you would be talking about.”  

Cersei laughed and Myrcella’s eyebrows wrinkled in confusion as she looked between Sansa and her mother.  Sansa whispered loudly to Myrcella with a smile so that Cersei could hear, “Plausible deniability.”  She then winked at her playfully, “No one’s catching me say anything on tape.”

Cersei snorted with laughter again, “You are a riot.”  She pulled her phone out of her bag, “Okay, you want me to dispose?  This was my show after all.”  

Sansa paused for a moment, thinking.  Daisy was her responsibility.  This really was Cersei’s show.  Decisions, decisions.  Sansa looked down at the body, the slash marks, and the pool of blood around it.  Sansa surmised, “I made the mess, it’s my clean up.”  

Cersei picked her purse up, hooking it over her shoulder, “Either way.  I don’t mind.  What are friends for?”  

Sansa smiled at Cersei as she taught Myrcella, “Never let someone else dispose of your body--they’ll never work as hard to hide your evidence as you will.”  

Cersei nodded with a smile as she spoke to her daughter, “You’d do well to listen to Mrs. Baelish, she’s a clever one.”  

Sansa pulled her own phone out as she watched the Lannister women start for the door.  Cersei paused and asked blasé, as if she were not inches away from a dead body, “Are we still on for next tuesday at the spa?”  

Sansa made a show of looking down at her fingernails and then flashed them at Cersei and said, “Definitely, I’m past due.”  

Cersei grinned, “Wonderful.”  She turned to Myrcella, “Say goodbye to Sansa, we mustn’t be rude.”  

Myrcella looked up at Sansa, her eyes glassy, “Bye.”  

Sansa smiled warmly at her, “Remember, it really does get easier.  Bye, now.”  

Myrcella nodded timidly and Cersei folded her in her arms, calming her and assuring her that it was okay, she just wasn’t ready yet, as they walked out the door.  Sansa rolled her eyes; no one was ever really ready to stab someone else to death.  She punched in Petyr’s phone number as she paced the locker room, hearing her heels echo off the tile.  The phone rang twice before his silky voice slithered out the earpiece, “I love it when you call me.”  

Sansa grinned, feeling a slight blush rise on her neck, “I love your voice--it does things to me.”  

“Mm, what things?”  She could hear the devil in his grin as he spoke to her.  

Sansa bit her lip at his flirtation and then cleared her throat, “I can’t right now.”

“Aww.  You’re no fun.”  She could still hear his smile through his pout.  

“Petyr, I _made a mess_ ,” she smoothed her hair behind her ear with a free hand.  

His voice became serious as he spoke swiftly, “Tell me.”  

“I came to work out at this gym,”  Sansa gave him the address.  She knew that he was already sending someone over as she continued.  “And they had this big vase of flowers on the desk and I knocked them over by accident.  Clumsy me.”  She laughed and continued, “I was able to save them all but one.”  

“Oh?”  His voice intent as he waited for more explanation.  

Sansa made herself laugh as she said, “Yes.  It was a _Daisy_.”  

There was a long pause and then she heard him sigh, his voice softer as he spoke, “I am sorry.  I know how you like _Daisies_.”  

Sansa felt her stomach gurgle again as she answered.  “It’s okay.”  She wanted him to know that she approved of this, that it was her conscious decision.  She picked through her memory trying to find a phrase or a saying that would help him understand that it was just business.  She needed to be heartless and disconnected to show him how unaffected she was.  Before she realized what she was saying she uttered the words, “ _These things happen._ ”  

There was another long pause and then she heard his voice soothe, “Leave Jon behind to mind the fallen flower, come home to me.”  

She looked down at Daisy’s lifeless face again and felt her gag reflex spring into action.  She took a couple of slow and steady breaths, trying to stop herself from throwing up again.  His voice sounded concerned, “Sansa?”  

She took another controlled breath and said, “I’m on my way.  Gotta go.”  She hit the end button as she ran back to the toilet, this time missing some of it, as vomit hit the seat.  

After Sansa’s stomach stopped flexing, and she wiped the seat down, she stood back up, and kicked Daisy's corpse hard in the ribs.  Sansa spat down at her, “How dare you bother me this way!  You fucked up--did this to yourself.”  

Sansa walked over to the sink and was washing her mouth out again as she heard, “Well, looky what we got here!  Golden-snatch got a bit stabby!”  

Sansa groaned and picked her head up to look back at Bronn, who gestured down to Daisy.  “Hubby told me there was a clean up in the locker room Carrie-style.”  

Sansa rolled her eyes and walked past him, not acknowledging him.  Bronn turned on his heel, “Still mad?  It’s been years.  Fire-crotches really do hold a grudge, don’t they?”  

Sansa spun around, her stomach not quite catching up with her as she hissed, “You take every other job we send your way, you didn’t take that one, and an infant died because of it.”  

Bronn folded his arms and looked down his nose at her, his voice a slow controlled rumble, “You blame me for it’s death because I wouldn’t take the hit on it’s mother.  But do you ever blame yourself for pushing on and calling some cranked-out nobody with no experience, no values, no professionalism?”

“Every goddamned day.”  Sansa gritted her teeth, holding his glare.  

Bronn stared back for a moment and then he broke out into a wide smile, “Good!”  

Sansa’s jaw twitched in anger as she stared at him.  She cocked her head to the side in question and Bronn elaborated, “If you’ve recognized your own fault in the matter, it means you’ve learned from it.  Won’t be likely to happen again.”  

“Fuck you.”  Sansa hated how brazen Bronn could be.  He was the best at what he did, and she shuddered to think what would happen the day that they decided he wasn’t helpful anymore.  Would anybody be able to take him down?  

Bronn’s weathered face grinned again as he said, “Eh, your sister’s more my type.  Besides, pretty as you think you are, pissing your man off isn’t worth the trouble.”  

Bronn walked over to Daisy’s corpse and straddled it before crouching down over it, “I do like your work though.  You hit the throat in just the right spot to avoid a spray, it’s cleaner when it seeps instead of sprays.  I bet it wasn’t loud either.”  He then yanked out a piece of her hair and sniffed it, “Is that coffee?”  

Sansa felt the side of her mouth twitch, feeling oddly amused at how he worked.  She reminded herself that she hated him as she answered, “Yes.”  

He rested his forearms on his knees as he laughed, “I bet it was piping hot too.”  

Sansa felt a dimple form on her cheek, smiling.  She rolled her eyes, “Well, not hot enough to blister, clearly.”  

He tilted her head, checking for burns and he agreed, “No, but hot enough to stun the shit out of her.  I bet that was where most of your screaming came from.”  

Sansa nodded.  Bronn smiled and stood up, lifting one leg back over the body as he slowly approached Sansa.  “I’ll tell ya what.  I’ll give hubby a discount if you leave Johnny-boy behind to help lift.”  

Sansa tilted her head in question at him, “Can’t you do this alone?  Don’t you usually?”  

Bronn shrugged, “Yeah.  Wouldn’t hurt to have a friend help.”  

“Friend?”  Sansa’s eyebrows raised surprised.  

“Ya gotta have friends, Red.  It’s what separates us from the animals.  Otherwise, we’d all just kill and fuck each other.”  Bronn gestured back at Daisy.  

Sansa conceded, “Fine, only if he wants to.”  

Bronn grinned, “Decent.”  

Sansa turned and walked out, aching to get out of her tight dress and into something more comfortable before she lay in Petyr’s arms.  She chided herself for being so affected, but knew that she couldn’t help how her body reacted.  Petyr would understand, he always did.      


	13. You Must Be Mistaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You. Are. Going. To. The. Doctor.

Sansa lay in bed, staring at the television mounted to the wall, as her stomach turned.  She’d caught waves of nausea off and on for well over a week now and didn’t seem to be getting better.  Petyr told her she should go see a doctor and she dismissed him.  People got sick all the time, no need to run to a doctor for every headache and upset stomach.  

Jon laughed at her and told her that it was probably all of her “healthy living,” something he felt she had gone overboard with.  Sansa would have smacked him if she had the energy.  

Her phone buzzed against the pillow, _I’ve had enough.  You. Are. Going. To. The. Doctor._

Sansa rolled her eyes at Petyr’s mandate as she typed back, _People are allowed to get sick._

Sansa hugged the pillows closer to her abdomen, rolling onto them a little as she pulled the comforter up over her shoulders.  Her phone lit up the dark bedroom, _Not for 2 weeks._

It had not been two weeks.  Had it?  She felt so tired lately, and disorganized.  It was hard to keep track of the days anymore.  Sansa dropped her phone on the bed and grabbed Petyr’s pillow, pulling it under her face for comfort.  Her phone buzzed again, and kept buzzing.  Sansa picked up the phone and saw Arya was calling.  She answered the phone and listened to Arya, “Who’s sick?”

“What?”  Sansa asked.  She hadn’t told Arya she was sick.  

“Jon sent me an emoji of vomit.  Well, it was either vomit or some kind of ethnic casserole, but I think its vomit because he also sent me a green colored frowny-face.”  Arya reasoned over the phone.  

Sansa’s brow furrowed, “He sent you _emojis_?”  

Arya laughed through the receiver, “He always does.  He doesn’t ever send text in a text.  To me anyway.  It’s always those fucking emojis I have to figure out.”  

Sansa found herself chuckling over the thought of her deadly cousin, deeply trusted silent strong arm, only communicating with her equally deadly sister _in emojis_.  “How long has this been going on?”  

“Fucking forever. Years.  Before I moved out.”  Sansa could hear Arya’s eyes roll as she answered.  And then she heard her continue, “You never answered me, so it’s you that’s sick.”

Sansa sighed, not willing to give more.  Arya’s voice got low and serious, “You’re still not talking.  How bad off are you?”  

“I’m fine.”  Sansa dismissed the concern and laughed, “It comes and goes really.  Jon thinks it’s all the kale smoothies.”  

Arya wouldn’t be deterred, “And what does Petyr say?”  

Sansa’s eyes narrowed as she stared ahead at the muted television and growled into the phone, “Arya.  It doesn’t matter what Petyr says.   _I_ say, I’m fine.”  

Arya’s laugh sounded through the receiver, “So he wants you to be seen.  You should.  Besides, don’t trust anything that _cums_ and then _goes.”_

Sansa threw her head back on the bed and covered her eyes as the grin on her face threatened to end the call with her cheek.  When she was done laughing she said, “I’ll think about it.”  

Her phone buzzed in her hand and she pulled it away to look at it.  Petyr.  Sansa said goodbye to Arya, “I’m getting another call.”

“Go. To. The. Doctor.”  Arya’s voice chuckled as she directed.  

Sansa smiled back, “I said I’ll think about it.  Bye.”  

She hung up, accepting Petyr’s call before she missed it, “Hello.”  

“How are you feeling?”  She could hear his car lock’s beep as he asked.  

She sat upright, waiting for the nausea to take over and when it didn’t, she answered, “Better.  Still tired though.”  

“Get in bed, then.”  He said matter of fact as she heard his car door slam.  

She wanted to flirt back, wanted to ask him if he would come join her.  But she knew better.  It would only frustrate them both.  She didn’t realize how long she’d been sick...it was more time without Petyr.  She felt guilty for not noticing, but knew she didn’t mean to be insensitive, she was legitimately sick.  Besides, at this rate, he was the one choosing to not fuck her.  

He was insulted by the condoms he found in her nightstand, and his mind went crazy with assumption.  Sansa had been sick that afternoon and changed out of her clothes, tossing only one of Petyr’s t-shirts on to take a nap in.  When she woke up, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, bracing himself against his thighs, staring at the floor.  She slowly stirred to let him know she was awake, and finally said his name gently to get his attention.  Tossing the condoms on the comforter, he wouldn’t look at her as he spoke, “What are these for?”  

Not knowing if he was joking or not, she laughed skeptically, “What do you think they are for?”  When he didn’t acknowledge her response, she leaned forward, hugging his closest arm to her as she cooed into his ear, “ _Fucking_ , of course.”  

Petyr was unmoved.  Sansa scooted closer to him, spreading her legs around him, threading one in the nook between his arms and legs, laying it across his lap.  She bent the other and rested it against his back, hoping the heat of her sex pressed to his side would remind him of their intimacy.  She rubbed his shoulder blades with one hand and held his bicep with the other as she kissed his shoulder.  She was about to say something else designed to ignite his fire when he turned to face her.  His expression was hard and cold, his eyes dilated and wounded as he spoke, “Not me.”  

“Wh-what?”  She didn’t understand.  

“Not for fucking me.”  His gaze was too strong, she wanted to avert her eyes.  What was he talking about?  

Sansa shook her head, rejecting whatever was going on in his brain, “No.  No.  What are you saying to me?”  

“ _Strangers_ fuck in latex.”  He picked up the condoms and waved them in her face.  And then he shook his head, “Or people you wish were _estranged_.”  

No.  That wasn’t what she meant at all by it.  What the hell?  Sansa lifted her chin, “You are wrong.”  

“Am I?”  His eyebrows cocked, his jaw tight.  “You made Clegane wear a condom, and probably all the ones before that.  You wished they weren’t inside, and you kept them as far away as you could, convincing yourself it wasn’t real because their skin wasn’t against yours, it didn’t really happen.”  

Sansa’s face turned hard and expressionless, her only defense against this assault, though her insides were gasping for air.  She felt so exposed, how did he know?  How could he possibly understand the things she’d done and the ways she got herself through them?  Whores--that’s how.  They were something he had a lot of experience with.  Was he calling her a whore?  Sansa felt herself regain some power through her anger at the insinuation and she retaliated, “And I suppose you just _loved_ every little whore that tested clean, or you wouldn’t have rubbed your naked cock against their worn-out cunts.  I’m amazed you didn’t marry each and every one of them, for how _meaningful_ unprotected sex is to you.”  

Petyr swiveled and grabbed her arm, pulling her further towards his face as he growled, “You’re deflecting.  This isn’t about whores, it’s about relationships.”  

Sansa pushed her face closer to his, feeling her cheeks heat as she sharpened her tongue, “So sorry.  Shall we talk about ‘all the ones before,’ or did you just want to talk about the Hound?”  He didn’t answer her and she pushed harder, if he wanted to play this way, she would meet his fire with hers.  “You watched me for weeks, and I’ve got a terrible memory, maybe you could catch me up on just how I liked him to _give it to me_?”  

Petyr’s voice sound strangled as his fingers tightened on her.  Spit caught in the corners of his mouth as he huffed through his clenched teeth.  For a moment, Sansa wasn’t quite sure what he would do next, feeling the first inklings of fear stir within her.  After a prolonged moment of him regaining his composure, he turned away from her as he spoke, “I fucked whores naked because it felt good and I had no reason not to.  Until I knew what it felt like to fuck _you._  The wholeness of it--the familiarity and the extraordinary.  I had only ever wore a condom when I fucked someone because it was a necessary evil, because I couldn’t bare intimate knowledge of them--until that night with you.  I wore it at your request, so I could be as close as _you would allow._  I thought we were past that by now...”  

Sansa stared ahead at him, unsure of what to say next.  He turned back to her, his voice was as soft as his eyes, “You know what it feels like to be with me, and you are choosing to lessen it.  That _hurts._ ”  

Sansa’s heart dropped.  She braced her palms on his shoulders and slid into his lap, attempting to bring her face close to his.  He kept turning away, not looking her in the eye.  She lifted his face numerous times only for him to resist, before she finally reached behind his head, tangling her fingers in his hair and tugged.  His eyes lifted to hers and she met him nose to nose, “That is not how I meant this--at all.”  

“Then how?”  His voice sounded exasperated, though she noticed his hands sliding over the length of her thighs and resting on the curves of her hips.  She felt hopeful at his willingness to hold her.  

She allowed her eyes to soften as she said, “It _hurts_ me to deny you.”  He started to scoff and pull away from her, but she tugged his hair, bringing his attention back as she continued.  “It’s just sex.  There is more to us than sex.  It shouldn’t matter.”  She held his gaze in silence for a moment, watching a war of retorts storm within him.  Before he could offer one, she continued, “Except…”  She started placing kisses on one of his cheeks, “that…” She kissed at the other, “we connect…”  She was kissing the line of his jaw before she gave it a gentle bite, “so deeply…”  She started kissing down his throat, “when I feel you…”  She stopped on the vein in his neck that beat rapidly against her lips, “pulse inside me.”

Sansa heard him groan as his hands slid under the oversized shirt and smooth down over the bare rounds of her ass.  She snuggled into the divot below his throat, “We make each other feel so good.  I always want to do that for you.  And right now, I can’t.  I have to say no.”  She ran her tongue over the ridge of his clavicle, “I want to say yes so bad.”  She made her voice a desperate mewl as she breathed into him, grinding herself against the growing bulge in his pants, “I need it.  I need to feel you.”         

Petyr let go of her and started reaching for his fly.  She felt the back of his hand rub against her sex as he worked the button on his pants, and heard the teeth of his zipper separate.  He had his cock in his hand, offering himself pressure as she brought herself closer, allowing his knuckles to sink inside her seam and bead over her clit.  She whimpered and panted as she ground herself against him, and Petyr tried to guide himself to her, but she wouldn’t move back enough to let him in, “Tell me no, Petyr.”  

“What?”  He panted, his eyes squinting in confusion.  

She reached down and pulled his hand away, crashing against him harder, so that her wetness glided up and down Petyr’s shaft, her nub massaging the underside of his cock.  Her breathing was desperate into his ear, “Tell me no.  Listen to how much I _need it_ .  And, _Fuck_ , I need it so bad, Petyr.”  She shuddered against him as she felt his cock twitch and hit her clit.  Sansa let another needy moan escape before she continued, “Feel me against your cock.  Feel it trapped between your rock-hard abs and my wet, hot, pussy.  Think about how tight I must be by now.  Listen to me beg for you to give me what only you can.  And then tell me no.  Stop it from happening.  Deprive me of what we share.”  

“No.”  He shook his head.  

Sansa pulled her cheek away from his, holding his face in her hand.  She massaged him with her sex and stared back into his eyes, “Exactly.”  She removed the desperation from her voice, though she still truly suffered from it.  He stared back at her, registering what she was telling him as she continued, “That’s why I got the condoms.  Not to be away from you or deny the feel of you.  And definitely not to fuck _other men_.”  

Petyr sighed and rested his forehead against her shoulder.  She brought her arms around him, laying them across his back as she continued to roll her hips.  She felt his arms tighten around her and heard the air catch in his throat.  She knew what she was doing for him, but was still a little surprised when she felt the hot, sticky, fluid squirt between them, whitewashing their bellies and the bottoms of their shirts.  

Laying in bed, Sansa found her hand sliding down between her legs at the memory. Her phone felt warm against her face as she brought herself back to the present, considering how bittersweet it was to encourage his passion when she couldn’t yet follow through.  She sighed back into the phone, “I am in bed.”  She decided to change the subject, “Sounds like you are in your car.  Tyrell meeting ran quick?”  

She could hear his smirk, “Yes, their shipment came ahead of schedule, much further ahead of schedule than anyone anticipated.  I do not know why or how, and it sounds like neither do they.”  

“Oh?”  Sansa gave herself one last press of her palm before she decided to stop and instead adjusted her pillows again.  She could hardly ever get comfortable lately, tossing and turning all the time.  

She heard the blinker sound and she knew he was turning somewhere as he answered, “They are idiots, Sansa.  Without Olenna, it’s a wonder they are still up and running.  Seriously.”  

“Oh!”  Sansa suddenly remembered, “Olenna!  Shae’s been tracking Margaery for the past week, and she’s been visiting Olenna at the retirement home.  Apparently, she’s the only visitor.”  

“Interesting.”  Petyr acknowledged.  

“I thought so.  Shae doesn’t have any more information than that right now, but it’s a start.”  Sansa flipped through the channels on mute, watching the pictures slide by.  

“It is.”  Petyr smiled through the phone.  

They continued to talk for a while before Sansa felt the phone getting heavy in her hand and her eyelids droop.  She heard his voice sound close by her ear, “Wake up.”  Sansa squirmed, down by her hip, her hand groped the hard square shape of her phone in her hand.  She heard his voice by her ear again, “It’s time to wake up.”  

How did he sound so close when the phone was so far away?  Sansa slowly opened her eyes to see him smiling down at her.  “You’re home,” she croaked, still groggy.  

He chuckled, leaning down to slowly pull her up to a sitting position as he asked, “Are you wearing pants?”  

She smiled back, “Yes...why?”  

“Good,” he dropped a random pair of her flats on floor by the bed, “Put these on.”

“What?”  She looked back at him, confused, as she pulled the covers back and swung her legs around.  

“I’m taking you to walk-in care.”  Petyr kept smiling, though she felt the underlying tension behind it, waiting for her to refuse.  

Seeing his expression convinced her.  She didn’t want to resist him anymore, “Okay.”  

He hugged her tightly, grinning from ear to ear, a silent thank you for being agreeable.  She slipped her shoes on and Petyr held her coat out for her.  As they rode over, she noticed that the nausea was still gone and started second-guessing whether or not to go.  She looked over at Petyr who appeared serene as he drove the car.  No, she couldn’t do that to him.  She couldn’t second-guess and take away his comfort.  Besides, she had truly been sick for weeks and she did want to know why, regardless of how much she tried to minimize it for Petyr’s sake.      

When they arrived at walk-in, the wait was surprisingly short considering it was not a primary care provider’s office.  They called her name and she stood up, not surprised that Petyr rose from his seat as well.  She wanted to turn and tell him that she was a grown woman, and capable of going to the doctor without a chaperone.  One look at his face as he folded the magazine he was reading under his arm, told her that he would not be deterred.  

When the doctor came in, she read over the symptoms Sansa and Petyr--ever the helpful husband, had reported.  Questions about her diet were asked, as well as when the nausea came and when it went.  Sansa didn’t think it had a pattern, but Petyr noticed that it was usually the worst about lunch time, and started clearing around dinner time, sometimes just after.  Sansa looked at the clock and realized it was past dinner time.  Of course it was.  Walk-in Care offices were open past regular doctor’s offices, that’s why he brought her there.  That’s why she wasn’t nauseous.  At the doctor’s request, Sansa sat on the exam table and leaned back.  Petyr smiled at her reassuringly as the doctor pushed on her abdomen and asked if any areas were tender:  up under her ribs, along her sides, below her belly button, and lower.  

Suddenly, the doctor’s eyes widened in surprise and she looked up at Sansa and then over at Petyr.  She pulled Sansa’s shirt down and grabbed a urine cup and a johnny out of one of the drawers under the exam bed and said, “I need you to do a clean catch sample for me, and put this on.”  

“What’s going on?”  Petyr’s voice did not hide his concern.

The doctor smiled and said, “I’m just doing a rule-out.”  She turned to Sansa, “I’ll give you a minute for some privacy.”  She left the room before either of them could ask anything else.  

Sansa looked up at Petyr, and he looked back at her, in shared confusion.  Petyr reached his hand out, being a gentleman as she stepped down off the bed and walked to the adjoining bathroom.  She left the sample in the little drop-off window and undressed, slipping the gown on.  She stepped back into the exam room feeling awkward under the florescent lighting as she asked Petyr for help, “Can you, uh, tie me up, please?”  

He looked up from the magazine he was flipping through, and gave a devilish grin, “Tie you up, huh?”  

She rolled her eyes, “You know what I mean.”  She turned to show where she was holding the gown together.  

Petyr walked over to her, nudging her hands away, making exaggerated sounds of pleasure as he watched the gown hang open behind her.  Unable to resist, he cupped her ass for a moment as he teased, “This is a good look for you.”

She laughed and swatted at him as he found the ties.  She looked at her bare feet on the tile floor as she asked, “What do you think is wrong with me?”  

His voice was smooth and reassuring as he kissed her shoulder and said, “We’re going to find out.  And we’ll get through whatever it is.”  

There was a gentle knock on the door and doctor came back in.  She smiled as she looked up from her folder, “I just ran a urine analysis, it covers a broad spectrum of issues.  And just to be thorough, I added a HCG test.”  The doctor set her folder on the desk, “You tested positive...you’re pregnant.”  

“... _what_?”  Sansa blinked in response.  

She heard Petyr’s voice, distant and dazed as he addressed the doctor, “You must be mistaken.”  

The doctor looked back at them confused, “No.  The HCG test is very accurate.”  

Petyr’s hands had dropped from Sansa, taking a step away from her as she walked towards the doctor.  Sansa shook her head, “No.  We’ve been purposefully not trying to conceive because of the _loss._ ”  

The doctor motioned for her to get on the exam table, “Well, what method of birth-control have you been using?”  

She pulled out stirrups at the end of the bed and gestured for Sansa to put her heels in them.  It was Petyr that answered, “ _Abstinence.”_

The doctor sounded skeptical as she explained, “It is possible to still conceive from pre-ejaculation, that’s why we don’t advise the pull-out method.”  

Sansa shook her head, “No, no.  You’re not understanding.  My husband and I have not been _intimate_ at all in over--”  

“Two _months._ ”  Petyr cut her off, his mouth tight, eyes piercing, as he crossed his arms and loomed over her.  

For the first time, the doctor realized that perhaps this was not the cheeriest news.  Except that it truly was.  Sansa felt her hand slide down to her belly as she laid back on the table.  Could she really be pregnant?  There was no way.  She wasn’t exactly the Virgin Mary, but after a two month hiatus in the sex department, she knew this doctor must be wrong.  But what if she wasn’t?  What if by some miracle she actually was pregnant?  Was this a dream?  

The doctor spoke a little more solemnly as she directed Sansa to, “Scootch down to the end of the table, please.”  The doctor rubbed lubrication on a speculum, warning her that it would be uncomfortable, as if Sansa wasn’t already aware of that.  Petyr stood to the side of the bed, watching as the doctor hunched over her work, at the end of the bed.

Sansa sucked in a quick breath as she felt the cold metal enter her.  She heard the doctor say, “Breathe,” as she heard the clicking sound of it spreading her.  She looked up at Petyr, who was peering down at her, his face unreadable.  What was he thinking?  What would any man be thinking right now?  After being denied access to his wife for well over two whole months, right after a miscarriage, if she really was pregnant, what did that mean for _them?_  How in the hell could they be pregnant?  He was right, this had to be a mistake.  

Sansa remembered the day with the condoms, the twinge of fear she felt when she thought he seriously considered that she had cheated on him.  She had known that he was going crazy with the imposed distance, but she never thought that he actually ever entertained the idea that she would step out on him, until that day.  If he could question her then, surely he was questioning her now.  Sansa felt a low rumble of anger at being doubted, and then remembered that she had already forgiven him, he was momentarily crazy in his desperation.  It was already dealt with, in the past.  But now--now was entirely different.  

If he thought she cheated, he may only kill the sorry sack he thought was dumb enough to fuck her.  But if he thought she were pregnant with another man’s child--she didn’t know what he would do.  The stakes were definitely high, and this wasn’t easily explained away.  Sansa didn’t understand it herself, there had been no one but Petyr, _no one_.  

The doctor spoke from between her legs, “Yes.  It’s confirmed.  Your cervix is a nice bluish tint and closed up tight.”

“What does that mean?”  Sansa asked, feeling panic rise in her throat as, _Yes, it’s confirmed,_ echoed in her head.   

Petyr said nothing, his hard face, unchanging.  

The doctor directed Sansa to remove her feet, and helped her to sit up at the edge of the bed.  When Sansa was upright and facing her, the doctor explained, “The cervix takes on a bluish color because of the increased blood flow in that area, it’s how we nourish baby.  And it squeezes shut to not let anything out.  It’s early yet and things happen, but with how competent your cervix looks, I’d say this baby isn’t going anywhere.”  

She offered Sansa a smile before rolling back away to the computer in the corner and started typing.  Sansa sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the tile floor processing information.  She didn’t dare to look at Petyr, feeling his energy raging beside her.  

He spoke, grinding through his teeth, “ _When_?”  

“Excuse me?”  The doctor looked up from her typing, not understanding him.  

“When?”  Petyr asked again, he looked past Sansa as if she wasn’t there, his face sharp with anger, “When did this happen?”  

The doctor shook her head, “I don’t know, exactly.  I’m not an OBGYN.  You’ll have to make an appointment to be examined by them.  I can diagnose a pregnancy but not date it.  Usually it goes off of your last menstrual period.  But because you had the loss, you’ll have to get a transvaginal ultrasound to measure its crown to rump length--” The doctor noticed Sansa’s confused expression and explained further, “We can tell how big a baby is by measuring from its head to it’s bottom and figure out how many weeks pregnant you are.”  

Sansa heard, _head_ and _bottom._  Did her baby already have these things?  She remembered thinking of her last as just a cluster of cells, building a little person.  She had read that at six weeks it got a heartbeat, but she also knew that it usually took a body days if not weeks to recognize that the baby had passed, so even though she was six weeks when she lost, she had probably lost it before it ever had it’s first heartbeat.  This baby had a head and a butt, surely it had a heartbeat by now.  Sansa felt her own heart speed up as she looked down at her stomach, realizing how magical this was, even if she couldn’t explain it.  

Petyr spat out, “If you had to guess?”  

The doctor looked from Sansa to Petyr and back again.  “It’s outside of my scope of practice.”  

Petyr’s look was threatening and Sansa turned to the doctor, wanting to know more, and also not wanting to tempt Petyr’s fury, “Just tell us.”

“When I felt your abdomen, I noticed the fundus was just above your pubic bone.  Your uterus is growing to fill your pelvis, I’d say you are almost out of your first trimester.  Ten or Eleven weeks, not yet twelve.”  She sighed, “But this is not my specialty.  Please make an appointment with an OB.”  

Sansa spoke first, “No.  That’s wrong.  I miscarried three months ago.  I have not yet gotten my period.  My husband and I have not been trying.  There is no possible way that I could be Ten or eleven or _any_ weeks pregnant.”  Sansa felt herself tighten with anger and denial as she waved her hand in dismissal at the doctor.  She didn’t notice the other hand that naturally held her stomach protectively, accepting what her brain was still denying.  

Petyr spoke, his voice slow and controlled, “Please leave, Doctor.”  

The woman hesitated, about to protest when he continued, “My _wife_ and I need the room for a moment, to _discuss_ things.”  

The doctor looked back at Sansa trying to ascertain whether or not she wanted her to stay.  Sansa put a shaky smile on and nodded her agreement for her to go.  Whether the doctor was there or not didn’t matter, not to Littlefinger.  It was a kindness to let the woman escape.  

Petyr let his gaze fall back down to Sansa, his jaw tight, nostrils flaring, eyes searing into her.  She wrapped her other arm over her stomach protectively as she remembered the beautiful wolf that let her pet it every day when she was a kid, until the night it turned on her, trying to tear her limb from limb.  Sansa instantly started cataloging all the sharp objects in the room and calculating how quickly she could jump from the table to the bathroom for safety.  As she heard the sound of the door click behind the doctor, her heart stopped and her breath caught in her throat.    


	14. In or Out, Sweetie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If I didn’t seduce you, I’d be dead right now.”

The blood in his veins sang as every muscle in his body flexed, preparing to pounce.  Sansa sat on the sterile bed facing him, her expression looked almost intimidated as she held his gaze.  Petyr smiled inside at the idea of his very sexually confident wife suddenly uncertain about whether or not she could handle his cock.  He didn’t blame her, he could feel the beast inside of himself gnashing at his self-control, raging to be let loose.  Surely, she could see that behind his eyes.

At the sound of the door latching shut, Petyr opened the floodgate and let his primal urge break free.  He took one large stride forward, reaching to capture her.  Quite unexpectedly, she swung her legs around and jumped off the other side of the bed.  Unable to stop his momentum, Petyr fell forward, catching himself on the hard cushions, crinkling the sanitary paper sheet under his palms.  He chuckled as he watched her run for her purse.  It was sitting in one of the chairs when she snatched it up, groping around inside it while she stared wide-eyed at Petyr.  She shook her head, “It’s not what you think!”  

What?  Petyr didn’t understand what she was saying, but enjoyed the chase, as he stalked around the side, striding towards her.  He reached forward and grabbed her arms, aggressively trying to draw her into an embrace.  As he brought himself closer to her, he felt something sharp poke into his right kidney.  Petyr looked down and saw her arm out, reaching around.  Did she just draw a knife on him?  He cocked his head in curiosity, “Sansa?”  

“Let go of me, now.”  She stared back at him fiercely.  

Stunned by the seriousness of her voice and actions, Petyr realized that she was not feeling the lust he was.  He blinked, registering her command.  He made a point to slowly detach his hands from her arms and hold them up so she could see that he was taking her seriously.  He couldn’t fathom why she would make such a request, or what would cause his wife to turn on him, “What’s going on Sansa?”  

She shook her head, tears streaking down her cheeks, “I don’t know.  For the life of me Petyr, I don’t know how this happened.  There’s been _no one else._  Never!”  

Petyr glanced down to her stomach, not moving a muscle.  Slowly the wheels turned in his head, and he realized what she was saying--she didn’t remember.  Which naturally meant she thought he was doubting her fidelity--something he did not question, not now anyway.  The time apart had driven him mad.  She appeared so unaffected compared to him, and the condoms he found seemed like an explanation for her ability to be without him.  She eased his worry that day though, in the way only she had the power to.  As she held his face and told him that she wanted no one else, only him, he believed her.  

However, when Petyr heard the doctor tell Sansa she was pregnant, he couldn’t help the doubt that surged through him.  Or the rage that tickled his muscles, begging to break something or someone.  The idea that his wife could harbor another man’s child inside of her made him murderous.  She must have sensed the frenzy building within, threatening to rampage.  She was always so attune to him, reading his mannerisms and posture as much as his language and tone.  

A small voice in his head nagged him, told him not to strike just yet, he needed to find out more.  He always knew where she was, so when did it happen?  Who was it?  For the briefest of moments he wondered, how?  He wouldn’t let himself dwell on that thought.  He would, however, get answers.  

As soon as the doctor told him how far along Sansa was, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she never allowed another man to touch her.  The other questions dissipated into thin air with their irrelevance.  He felt validated that she was still as much his as the baby growing inside of her.  Suddenly, he couldn’t fight the urge to ravage the mother of his child, and claim her body after so long away from it.  

Returning to the present, he smiled confidently, regardless of the sharp blade poking at him.  If she didn’t remember, he could only imagine the things that were running through her brain.  He tried to calm her, “ _Sansa_.”

She shook her head, holding the knife point snug against his kidney, “It doesn’t make sense, but I’m telling you, this baby--”  

“Is _mine._ ”  He finished her sentence.  She looked up, wrinkling her eyebrows as she considered what he said.  He smiled reassuringly and slowly moved one palm forward, placing it on the wall behind her.  Her eyes darted to the side, watching the motion.  When she didn’t react, he took that as allowance to do the same with the other hand.  With his hands secured against the wall behind her, he smiled back at her.  

Sansa asked in disbelief, “You know that?  We haven’t...”  

Petyr pressed his body against hers and away from the knife positioned behind him.  She gasped in surprise at his bold move, and Petyr covered her mouth with his.  He pried her lips apart, and slid his tongue over hers, pushing her head back against the wall with the persistence of his kiss.  Petyr wanted to bring her back to a fond memory, Highgarden: their first kiss.  He smiled as he heard her moan into his mouth and slowly pulled away watching her eyelids flutter in pleasure.  

Assessing that she was affected enough to relax a little, he let go of the wall and brought his hands down to hold her face.  Her eyes snapped open at the realization that he held her, though he continued, undeterred.  “Because you,” he paused and rubbed her cheekbones with his thumbs.  “Don’t _fuck,”_ his hands snaked down to her throat and started for the back of her neck, massaging it as he went.  “Anyone,” his fingers thread into her hair, as his hands reached further up her neck.  “But _me.”_ His fingers curled, gently tugging and pulling her hair.  

He noticed her arm drop away from him, and her breathing became shallow as he felt her shift against his pelvis with hers.  He let go of her hair, one hand slid back down to her neck, holding her there.  He chuckled against her lips, “And it wasn’t _immaculate conception.”_

Petyr brought his other hand down and picked up hers, knife still in her grasp.  He raised her hand up and they both looked over at it.  Petyr was so proud of his young wife, defending the child she’d only just learned of, willing to kill even him to protect it.  He let go of her neck and detached the blade from her grip slowly, dropping it to the floor.  He turned her hand over, and looked at the large three carat diamond that accented her slender fingers.  How fitting it was that the hand she threatened his life with was the same one she used to wear the token of the vows only death would break.    

Petyr brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed her ring, smiling with his eyes as he watched her gaze speechless back at him.  He folded her arm into his, drawing it close to their chests as he hummed, “So strong.  So violent.  My ferocious wife.”  

He nuzzled his face into her neck as he whispered, “My _forgetful_ wife.”

Petyr felt her neck vibrate as she spoke, “I would not forget if we were together.”  He felt her free hand rove up his side, over his ribs as she continued to press back against him, “You’re very _memorable._ ”  

Petyr chuckled and gently bit where her neck and shoulder met before he spoke, “You would think.  But sadly, it seems you did.”  

“No.  I wouldn’t.”  She shook her head against his, and brought her thigh up gently to press the bulge between his legs, “I would remember, _this._ ”

Petyr felt his balls tighten and his cock stiffen, “I don’t--”  He rubbed against her leg, “ _hold it against you_.”  Petyr chuckled easily and released her arm, allowing his free hands to settle on her hips as he kissed her neck in between words, “We were both so completely under the influence, at the time.  You passed out afterward and I had to carry you in the house.  I don’t know how you were up and about the next morning.”  He laughed, remembering her morning jog.  “Think back, what happened ten weeks ago?”

Petyr kept his hands on her hips, gripping the sides of her exam gown, and inching the material up with his fingers slowly as she realized, “Fashion Week.”  

“Yes.”  He lifted the gown enough to expose her to the open air, grinning.  

“No.  I gave you a blow job.”  She furrowed her eyebrows back at him, confused.  

“You started to.  But I wanted more, and I pulled you up into my lap.”  Petyr reached his hands over her naked ass and lifted her up.  Sansa instinctively wrapped her legs around him, grinning with excitement as he turned them back over towards the exam bed.  

He gently set her down and pulled her hair out of its bun, fanning it loosely around her.  He loved it when her hair ran wild.  Petyr reached for the ties on her gown as he spoke, “I unzipped your pants and reached my hand in.  When I rubbed you through your damp panties, I knew you wanted more too.”  

Sansa gasped at his words and the feel of her gown come undone.  Petyr smiled as he pulled the loose material away from her, slowly allowing himself an unbridled view of his wife’s naked form.  She made no motion to cover herself, just smiled deeply and placed her palms flat on the table behind her, bracing herself for whatever he would offer her.  Petyr clenched his fist to stop himself from touching her, he wanted to savor the sight of her, letting his eyes scan her from head to toe and back again.   

Her nipples were darker, he hadn’t noticed that before.  But under the florescent light, he could tell now.  However slightly, her body was changing.  Her breasts, while not larger, appeared fuller.  Petyr let his gaze fall to the thatch of sun-kissed hair that covered her sex.  His jaw tightened, and his nostrils flared looking at her.  She rubbed his leg encouragingly with her foot.  Unable to avert his gaze from her, he knew he’d done nothing but eat her pussy for far too long, but he still felt the need for a little taste.  He reached for his pants, unbuckling them as he slowly started to lower himself.  

“No.”  Sansa leaned forward and reached for him, putting her hands on his shoulders to stop him.  

Petyr shook his head playfully, “Uh-uh.  No more ‘no.’  Only ‘yes,’ and ‘now,’ and ‘ _please.’_ ”  

She grabbed his collar and tugged him up away from her sex, “You shouldn’t lick me.”  

“Oh?”  Petyr stood up at the end of the bed, squinting at her in curiosity, his smile sneaking out through his mock-serious face.  

She began working the buttons on his shirt, “You don’t want to get a mouth full of lube, do you?”  

As Petyr shifted out of his shoes and the pants that had gathered around his ankles, he remembered the doctor coating her instrument before she used it on Sansa.  He smiled as he decided that lube would not be the flavored kind.  No he did not want a mouth full of that.  Petyr let her peel his shirt down his arms and away from him before he brought his hands to her face and pulled her into a slow and passionate kiss.  He hovered above her face as he pulled away, “Mm, so thoughtful.”  

She smiled back up at him, biting her lip a little before she spoke, “I remember sitting in your lap, and I remember your hand in my pants.”  She leaned forward lifting his white cotton undershirt to kiss his bare chest.  She lightly ran her fingers over his scar and kissed along it, running her tongue over it in places, whispering almost to herself, “ _My poor baby_.”  When it was clear she felt she had paid enough homage to the wound of their wedding day, she let her fingers trail down his chest and rub over his thighs as she spoke.  Her voice was luscious, “I even remember you pulling my panties to the side so you could sink your fingers inside me.”  

Petyr’s cock ached at her words.  He gripped the back of her head, holding her to him as she kissed and nibbled on his abs.  He groaned loudly and unexpectedly as she wrapped her fingers around his manhood.  She smiled as she kissed a trail down lower, “That’s all I remember.  Tell me more.  Tell me how you fucked me.”  

His eyes closed as he felt her hand squeeze and apply the pressure he needed.  “Christ, Sansa.”  He took a couple of slow breaths, regaining his composure as he started talking to her, “I fingered you while you grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar and drank.  Then you handed it to me and pulled your pants off before you straddled me.  We did another line and finished the bottle together.”  

Sansa’s head lowered further still and he felt her hot breath on the head of his dick.  He sucked in air when he felt her draw him into her mouth in one quick motion.  She instantly started moving up and down on his shaft, cupping his balls.  Petyr reached down for her shoulders, massaging them as he kept explaining, “It was almost like our first time, but without protection and with copious amounts of liquor.”  He picked one hand up and ran his fingers through her hair as he watched her mouth repeatedly consume his cock, “I undid your corset and let your tits bounce freely.”  

Petyr knew that he would cum if she kept working him as expertly as she was.  She had always been quite adept at finishing him off this way, but all this time only being allowed to give head, she was becoming highly skilled.  He lowered his hand to her jaw, and stroked it with his thumb before he nudged her away from him and whispered, “Lay back.”  

She looked up at him, her lips swollen and wet, and reclined as he instructed.  Petyr smiled down at her, laying on display for him.  He leaned forward, pressing his hardened self against her as he cupped her breasts, “I sucked your tit while you rubbed yourself in my lap.”  He started plucking at her nipple.   

Sansa winced and he instantly stopped.  “What’s wrong?”  he asked, concerned, pulling his hands away.

She caught them and brought them back to her breasts, “My nipples are a little tender.  But I still like it when you touch me.”  

Of course they were tender.  He knew that was a common early sign of pregnancy.   _Pregnant, with my child._ Petyr grinned from ear to ear at the thought and looked down at her flat stomach again.  Obliging her request, Petyr gently massaged her breasts, careful to avoid her nipples.  His eyes met hers, sparkling back at him.  Her smile told him she was enjoying herself.  The way her lips moved and her back arched into his grasp, told him that she wanted more.  Suddenly he got an idea, reaching down under the bed as he asked, “Have I sufficiently jogged your memory?”

“I remember bits and pieces, now.”  She admitted as he pulled one of the stirrups out and guided her heel into it.  She looked up, cocking an eyebrow curiously at him.  Petyr grinned and shook his head, unwilling to answer her curiosity.  He was pleased to see she allowed him to guide her other foot into the second stirrup as well.  Her words were soft as she chided herself, “I can’t believe I didn’t remember.  I’m sorry, Petyr.”  

He felt his heart grow in his chest at how sweet she was, always thinking of his feelings, never wanting to hurt him.  Except of course, for moments before, when she was prepared to stab him and leave him to bleed out.  But circumstances were different then.  She was a fierce mother wolf protecting her young, willing to kill her mate if need be.  Her ability to do what needed to be done in all things, made her worth worshiping.  She alone was the only woman capable of mothering a Baelish.  He smoothed his hands down her ribs, over her stomach, and to her hips.  His words were warm, “Forgiven.  We were drunk and high, you way more than me.  I never mentioned it because you didn’t.”  He lowered his voice, still feeling a sliver of guilt from that night, “To be honest, I thought you _regretted_ it.  It was too soon; we were still-- _grieving.”_

She looked down at her stomach and swallowed, “I don’t regret anything we’ve done together.”  

Petyr cursed himself for mentioning the loss at a moment like this, and was about to try to comfort her when she appeared to pull out of the thought, not allowing herself to dwell down that dark cave of emotion.  She scooted herself further down the bed, closer to him, and smiled as she said, “I remember looking up at the mirrored ceiling and seeing you on top of me, were we on the floor?”  

Petyr sighed in relief that she was not upset for long and he grinned down at her, his hands resting where her thighs bent into her hips.  “Yes, the coke made us animals.  I couldn’t get close enough to you, so you pulled me out of the seat and we fell to the floor-- _fucking_.”  

Sansa scoffed, “ _Animals_ , huh?”  

“Down-right insatiable,” he grinned as he tightened his grip and yanked her to the very edge of the bed.  She yelped in surprise at the force of his pull, and then started laughing.  Her hair splayed out behind her in streams of red against the white paper and turquoise colored exam upholstery.  He took himself in hand and began rubbing his head against her opening, slick with lube.  He watched her squirm, trying to position herself so that he would enter.  Petyr smiled down, wanting nothing but to get inside.  But he, more than anyone, knew the power of prolonged pleasure.  He lifted himself, running his cock between her lips, and over her nub.  He heard her groan as she bucked her hips up and he smiled.  

Just then, there was a knock.  Petyr froze and they both turned their heads.  A female voice sounded through the door, “Mr. and Mrs. Baelish, are you all set?”

“Not just yet.”  Sansa answered.  Petyr smirked at her attempt to sound as normal as possible, considering she was buck naked, feet in stirrups, with her equally naked husband between her legs, rubbing his dick all over her.  She caught his expression and looked up him smiling, mouthing the word, “What?”  

He shook his head happily, declining to answer.  They listened for the woman to leave.  She didn’t right away, her voice nervous, “Okay.  Um, the next patient is waiting, and needs the room.  So…”  

“We’ll be right out.”  Sansa assured her, again in the most natural sounding voice she could muster.  

Petyr shook his head again, smiling down at her as he whispered, “No, we won’t.”  

Her dimples flared and she covered her face with one hand, whispering back, “You’re so bad.”  

He nodded in agreement as he lined himself up to her opening, and applied the slightest pressure.  He watched her hand slide back from her face to her hair, gripping it as she breathed.  He pushed forward slowly, feeling the head of his cock submerge inside her.  He shivered from the feel on his sensitive tip, his head rolling back and his eyes closing.  He wanted to let go of himself and ram wildly into her, but he tightened the leash on himself.  Petyr picked his head up and opened his eyes to watch as he pushed forward, slowly covering his entire shaft with her.  Her free hand had grabbed the side of the bed, gripping it as she sounded her pleasure.  

Petyr watched her squirm and mewl, clutching whatever she could, and he shifted within her.  He felt proud and powerful when he saw the effect he had on her.  He held himself within her for a moment, filling her completely, amazed at how tight she had gotten in just two months.  

She began squeezing his cock with her muscles and he moaned at the unexpected maneuver.  Petyr pulled back slowly, watching his glistening shaft grow longer as he drew it further out of her.  They made a perfect arrow, between the line of his cock and the triangle of her cunt.  Petyr reached his hand over, rubbing his fingers over the nub at the tip of their arrowhead.  She moaned loudly as he rubbed and pushed forward into her again.  She tried to stifle herself and Petyr lifted his free hand from her hip to pull hers away from her face.  

“No need to be quiet,” he grinned.

“This is a doctor’s office!”  Sansa exclaimed back at him.  

Petyr circled her nub with his thumb and watched her shudder in pleasure as he purred down to her.  “Yes it is.”  He pumped into her slowly, leaning over her, “And I miss all the wonderful sounds my wife makes when I _fill_ her.”  

Sansa gasped, though he couldn’t be sure if it was from his words, his fingers, or his cock.  He brought his head down to kiss her.  She leaned up, catching him in her hands as she pressed her lips to his.  When they broke away, she held his face above hers.  They stared at each other, as he slowly pumped in and out of her.  He brought his fingers to the most responsive part of her clit and applied a gentle pressure.  She maintained her hold on his face, as her eyes widened and she sucked in a sharp breath.  Petyr smiled in her clutches as he heard her loud moan, no longer concerned with modesty.  He turned his face in her hands and kissed her palm as he pulled away, standing upright again for his birdseye view of her, while he continued his slow and steady assault of her insides.  

He was pacing himself, trying to remember that it would all be over if he moved too quickly.  Though there were times that he would involuntarily shiver at the sensation of being ensconced inside her and his hips would rock faster.  She was always louder when he moved more forcefully, which was highly encouraging, but he wouldn’t let himself to release until he felt her come undone around him.  

Another knock came at the door, and Petyr growled, “Go away.”  He could feel her pressure building as he massaged her inside and out.  Sansa’s back was arched off the table, her tits bouncing with each surge into her.  The way her forehead wrinkled and her eyes squinted told him she was close.  She moaned and panted, her mouth hanging open as she grabbed the side of the bed, her knuckles going white.  

Christ, she was gorgeous.  “Mr. Baelish!  Other people need to use this room.  We have patients waiting.”  

 _Let them wait,_ he thought as he continued.  She was so close, he could feel it.  He didn’t answer and neither did Sansa, too focused on what was between them.  The knocking became a distant sound as he watched her writhe in the sensation he was building in her.  Petyr felt her suddenly go still, completely rigid as he pumped into her.  His eyes found the aqua pools of hers, as he heard her cry out in ecstasy.  She pulsed around him, massaging his cock with the waves of her orgasm.  

The primal need within him took over at the feel of her body calling to his.  Petyr moved his hands to her hips, as he rocked into her faster.  She continued to moan and pant her way through to her completion, still massaging him in smaller less frequent waves when he heard a soft chuckle.  He kept his pace as he looked up at her.  Sansa’s head was turned away from him towards the door.  Petyr followed her gaze to a young medical assistant standing in the open door way completely frozen in shock.  

How much did she see?  The sight of his wife cumming was only for him.  Petyr closed his eyes for a second, not slowing down or stopping his motions.  He couldn’t think about what anyone saw, he could only think about how good his dick felt.  He barked, “Close the door!”  

The woman stood there stuttering, her motions shaky and uncertain.  Sansa brought her hand to Petyr’s cheek, pulling him back to her.  Petyr followed his wife’s lead, he loved it when she touched his face.  He knew she would take care of things, take care of him.  He nodded as he gazed down at her beautiful naked form, firming his hold on her hips.

Sansa was still turned away from him as she smiled playfully at the woman, “In or out, Sweetie.”  

He heard the woman gasp and the door slam shut immediately.  Sansa laughed under him and moved her hands down over his.  He loved how she could turn on a dime.  Less than an hour ago she was sickly and nervous, then she was vicious and ready to murder, and now she was dripping with sin.  Petyr found her hip bones with his palms and pushed them down against the table, stilling her movements as he pushed himself into her harder.  She gasped through her smile and gripped his hands tighter, approving of the forceful way with which he held her.  

Petyr leaned forward as he rammed into her, listening to the pornographic slapping sound of their joining and wondering if her bottom would be red afterward.  Suddenly he thought about the baby inside her and froze, his eyes wide staring back at her.  He knew that people fucked when they were pregnant all the time.  But like this?  Hard and fast?  Were there rules to this?  When his girls got pregnant they were off the pole and therefore out of the VIP room...he didn’t know.  

“What?!”  Sansa leaned up off the bed, squeezing his hands in hers, “What’s wrong?”

“Baby?”  Petyr choked out, his dick tingling, begging to keep moving.  Unable to stay still, he moved very slowly within, just to relieve the pressure.  

Sansa stared back at him, “It’s fine.”  

“It’s not too much?”  He searched her face, wondering if she would know.  

“If it doesn’t hurt me, it’s not going to hurt the baby.”  She reasoned as she lifted one foot out of the stirrup and wrapped it around him, pulling him forward and deeper within her.  Petyr allowed himself to be lead by her as he heard her growl in his face, “Now, _fuck me!”_

He blinked back, and then nodded his head in agreement.  He stood back up, pulling her hips hard against him as he slammed into her.  She moaned loudly through her smile, “Yes!  Just like that!”  

Petyr never needed encouragement to fuck his wife, but he couldn’t deny that it was helping.  He rocked back and forth, savoring each motion as his pleasure built up.  Petyr was teetering on the edge of his own orgasm when he looked down at her smiling up at him.  Her voice was liquid sugar as she purred, “Cum for me.  I wanna feel it.   _Please._ ”

Petyr’s whole body tightened, muscles he didn’t know he had bulged out, his heart pounding, air caught in his chest, as he exploded inside her.  Her voice was distant as his own heartbeat rang in his ears.  He barely heard her moaning and sighing, “I can feel you pulse inside me.”  

He felt her involuntarily squeeze around him as he poured into her.  Petyr felt like he could collapse, as if every muscle in his body had been pulled.  They stayed like that for a moment, sweating and catching their breath.  Sansa removed her other foot from the stirrup and sat up, wrapping her arms around Petyr’s waist, hugging him to her as she rested her head on his stomach.  Petyr reached down and ran his hand over her hair.  He didn’t have to ask what she was thinking, he knew, “The doctor said that this baby ‘isn’t going anywhere.’”  

Sansa didn’t look up as she sighed, “But she’s not an OB.”  

He ran his hand over her hair, “Then let’s get an appointment.”  

“I need to get another one.”  Sansa pulled away from him and looked up in mock-irritation, “You killed him.”  

Petyr huffed, “He was insensitive.”  

Sansa smirked, “He was.”  

“And now he’s nothing.”  Petyr grinned proudly.  He took a step back and reached his hand out to help her down off the bed, “And you, are _everything._ ”

She blushed a little over her dimples as he handed her the exam gown to wipe up with.  He teased her as he reached for his pants, “Even though you tried to kill me.”  

She rolled her eyes as she pulled her shirt over her head, “I didn’t want to.  And besides, I should get credit for mercy.”  

“ _Mercy?_ ”  Petyr scoffed, buckling his pants.  “If I didn’t _seduce_ you, I’d be dead right now.”  

Sansa grinned, “Yes.  But quickly, at least.  There is mercy in a quick death.”  

“Excuse me?”  He cocked an eyebrow at her.  

“Five minutes till bleed out for a kidney stabbing, if it’s a clean in and out.”  She reasoned, sliding her legs into her pants.  As she slipped her flats on, her soft eyes sparkled at him, “And I was gonna twist the blade to cut down the time for you.”             

Petyr had just put his button up shirt on, but left it hanging open as he reached for Sansa scooping her up into his embrace, completely enamored by her logic.  He inhaled her scent as he sighed happily, “You are going to be an amazing mother.”  

She was silent in his arms and he could feel the doubt and worry settle over her as he mentioned a future they thought was stolen away forever.  He kissed her ear, his voice calm and confident, “Let’s go home.”  

They gathered their things and opened the door, walking out arm in arm.  He smirked at the looks people gave them from the nurse’s station, and at the various rolling computer stands placed throughout the hallways.  As they passed the counter, he caught the attention of the nervous medical assistant who was stupid enough to walk in on them.  

Sansa gripped his arm in warning.  He heard her reason, “She’s practically a child still.  Leave her.”  

Petyr smiled at her protectiveness.  Though there was nothing to worry about.  It’s true that Petyr did not want anyone seeing Sansa’s secret faces, meant only for him.  However he could forgive a naive girl, fresh out of school, the accidental barge-in.  Now if it had been a _boy_ , fresh out of school...he couldn’t be too sure.  He wasn’t above some good ol’ fashioned sexism when it came to Sansa.  Petyr answered her, “Relax.”  

The girl averted her gaze from them until someone at the desk physically nudged her forward.  She slowly approached, her face as red as a tomato as she stuttered, “C-c-can I-I help-p-p y-y-you?”  

Sansa maintained her placid smile, though he could feel the slight rise and fall of her sigh.  He had to stifle a chuckle as he spoke, “I notice you didn’t accept my wife’s invitation?”  

The girl stood frozen in shock, unable to form words.  Sansa on the other hand, laughed in response, “Ignore him, he’s such a tease.  I’d apologize for the inconvenience, but you shouldn’t be walking in on people.”  

The girl nodded and stuttered an apology.  Petyr was about to warn the woman not to breathe a word of what she saw, but thought about it for a moment.  What had she seen?  Him fucking his wife.  Her crying out in the orgasm he gave her.  He couldn’t deny the powerful feeling the sight gave him.  Let her speak.  Let her run all over town telling the world how she watched Littlefinger and Sansa Baelish consummate their love passionately, loudly, and publically.  It would only make them look stronger to people anyway, a more united front.  He smiled at the girl, “My wife and I, require a referral to an obstetrician in the area.”  He glanced at Sansa as he said, “We’re in the market for a new one.”  

He watched her smirk at his words and then she leaned forward, whispering to the girl.  “Of course, your discretion is paramount.”  

The woman paused, looking between the two of them cautiously.  Sansa added, “About the pregnancy.”  

Petyr noticed how she didn’t clarify to mention their behavior in the exam room.  He wondered if she thought of it the same way he did or if she truly didn’t care who saw him fuck her.  The thought made his cock twitch, and he closed his eyes, taking a controlled breath, refocusing.  The girl nodded her agreement and told them that she would put in the request, before practically running away.  

Sansa tugged on his arm and whispered in his ear, “Let’s go home, you can help me wash all this lube off, _in the shower…_ ”  

Petyr instantly thought of pinning her up against the shower wall, letting the water clean them as they messed each other up.  He had thought that after he could finally have her, it would sate his hunger for her.  He let his arm loop around behind her, so his hand could slide possessively to her ass and laughed at how naive he had been.  He would never have his fill of her, his perfect- _pregnant_ wife.


	15. Private Consultations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something had gone on there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's that time of year where real world obligations intrude upon fun fantasy world spelunking. Which means work and family are demanding more and more attention and I am not able to focus on my Baelishes as obsessively as normal, so my updates will be more sporadic than usual. Sorry if there are longer waits in between chapters than normal, as it will be whenever I can sneak away. Because right now my time is going to be filled with moving an elf around on various shelves or something of that nature, I don't really know -- there's a book or something I'm supposed to read about it. Aint nobody got time for that. I'm still not seeing how this whole holiday thing is worth prying me out of fantasy land, but whatever. lol ;-) 
> 
> In any case, I don't see any cliffhanger chapters coming up so if there's longer spaces in between chapters, it shouldn't be a painful wait. In slivers of time I'll go back an re-read the other parts to ensure I don't lose my couple's voice for when I do have opportunities to write them during this busy holiday season. Thank you all for reading and leaving such encouraging comments, I'll post more as I can whenever I can.

Petyr chewed the spearmint gum Sansa had not so subtly left in the console of his car for him, as he walked down the long dirt road.  He had read that it was a normal pregnancy symptom to have an enhanced sense of smell.  He knew that Sansa couldn’t help it, but it was still a little upsetting to hear that his breath was not the freshest.  

Sansa had only said it the one time, but that was enough for him to chew through mints and gum constantly.  He never wanted a moment to arise that she thought twice about kissing him.  Petyr arrived at the usual spot, the gravel crunching under his shoes as he shifted impatiently.  He was never fond of these meetings, but knew the importance of them.  

His phone buzzed with a notification,  _ You are twelve weeks pregnant today! _  Petyr smiled as he read that his baby was now the size of a lime.  It was Jon’s idea for him to get the pregnancy app on his phone, and he couldn’t be more appreciative.  He remembered catching Sansa and Jon talking about him in her study one day.  

When they were alone together, Sansa would speak to Jon in sign language.  Back when Petyr first encountered one of their private discussions, he was a little startled by it.  Sansa explained that she didn’t want her ASL getting rusty and didn’t do it in public because Jon didn’t typically like people knowing that’s how he communicated.  

It was true, Jon opted to remain silent or text message his way through life as much as possible.  Still, Petyr didn’t like the idea of anyone talking to his wife--then girlfriend, on a level that he couldn’t meet.  Any free moment he had, he studied and taught himself sign language.  He would quiz himself by reading what they said and then finding a way to casually mention similar topics to Sansa later.  If she looked at him strangely or seemed surprised he would know that he had guessed wrong.  If he had guessed correctly, it was usually validated by her saying something like, “That’s funny, Jon and I were talking earlier today and …”  Eventually he was correct consistently and stopped feeling the need to double check.  

He had observed many conversations between Sansa and Jon over the years and kept silent, finding them benign.  However, the morning that he stood in the doorway to her study and watched Jon advise her to tell him something she wasn’t, he paid closer attention.  

She snapped her four fingers and thumb shut in the sign for, “No.”

Jon’s hands flew up telling her that if it was helping her, Petyr would want to know.  He also told her that anything that eased her worry may do the same for her husband.    

Sansa smiled and shook her head in dismissal of him, telling Jon that Petyr didn’t worry at all.  Petyr wasn’t sure if she truly believed that or was working to preserve appearances, not allowing her husband to appear weak to someone outside of their marriage, regardless of how closely she regarded Snow.  It wouldn’t be unlike her to be so protective.  The question more importantly was,  _ worry about what? _  He tried ultimately to project a calm confidence in all things, but there were some that he was sure only his wife could see his true concern.  

Petyr brought his attention back, missing the topic of discussion again as Sansa told her cousin that it was silly and that men weren’t interested in these things.   _ That _ interested Petyr.  What had she determined he--or any man for that matter, wouldn’t be interested in?  He shifted to get a better look at what they were saying.  

Jon told her that if it were him, he would be interested and he would track it too.   _ Track what?  _  Curiosity nettled Petyr as he watched.  Sansa sighed and was about to decline again when Petyr realized something, he had no reason not to let them know that he understood them.  It had been years and neither of them had given him any reason to feel as though he should monitor their communications privately.  He smiled, wondering what their reaction would be to his subterfuge.  He felt a excitement tickle in his stomach hoping Sansa would find it endearing; he knew she liked it when he obsessed, learning everything there was to know about her.   

Petyr walked into the room and they both looked up at him in surprise.  Sansa smiled while Jon offered an amiable look and nodded his head in greeting.  Cutting to the chase, Petyr grinned as he asked, “What is it that you’re not telling me?”  

Both Sansa and Jon blinked back at him.  He continued smirking, “You know, the thing that I would want to know if I were Jon?  No, wait--the thing he’d want to know if he were me.”  

Jon was the first to react, laughing and clapping his hands.  Sansa on the other hand scowled and put a hand on her hip, “How long have you known sign language?”  

“That’s not really important.”  Petyr attempted to refocus the conversation.  A leopard didn’t change it’s spots, and Petyr assumed she knew that he would never stop snooping on his wife.  It wasn’t about anything other than wanting to consume all of her, to know every fine detail, mannerism, thought, feeling,  _ private dealing _ \--, “What aren’t you telling me?”  

Sansa grinned, not allowing him to get away with it, “I’ll tell you after you tell me how long you’ve known sign language.”  

She wasn’t upset; she was playing too!  Petyr’s eyes lit with excitement, happy to be caught up in her claws.  “I’ve known since before the wedding.”  

Sansa gasped and then laughed incredulously, “Almost three years!  Seriously, Petyr?”  

He forced himself to calm his elation and shrug nonchalantly, “I wanted to know what you two talked about.  I was going to mention it before we got married, but it never came up.”  

“Never came up?  You would think you would trust Jon by now.”  Sansa rolled her eyes.  

Petyr smiled, “He _ is _ usually on my side...”  

Jon ran his fingers through his curly brown locks and rested his hand on the back of his neck as he avoided Sansa’s gaze.  He obviously felt the guilt of the honesty in Petyr’s statement.  Sansa sighed impatiently back at Petyr, before a yawn escaped her.  

She was always tired lately it seemed.  It must have been all the vomiting and not eating.  Petyr took advantage of her exhaustion, “Are you really going to be upset about this?  You know I keep an eye on you, and it’s something you’ve lead me to believe you enjoy.  I don’t always tell you my methods because that would ruin the surprise.  And you like being surprised.”  

“I do,” she acknowledged playfully.  Her eyes flashed up to his, smiling, “ _ Years  _ is long for a surprise, though.  

“I answered your question, will you now answer mine?”  Petyr kept the conversation moving to avoid any wraith she might have if she thought about it long enough.  

Sansa sighed and rolled her eyes, “I found a pregnancy app that tells you all about the baby and your body, week by week.  Jon thinks you should have it on your phone too.  I told him it’s just for women.”  

“That’s quite sexist of you,” Petyr smirked as he chastised her.  

Upon consideration, he realized that a pregnancy app sounded right up his alley.  He enjoyed being informed, especially about Sansa.  He turned to Jon and signed as he spoke, “And good on you--as usual.”  

Jon smiled and nodded his head in response.  Sansa grinned sheepishly as she walked over to Petyr and pulled his phone out of his pocket.  When she handed it back to him, there was an icon of a pregnancy belly and heart inside of  it.  

Petyr was quite thankful for that app and for Jon’s encouraging Sansa to share it with him.  It had been quite helpful as the days passed by.  He enjoyed reading about various things his wife went through so that he could tailor how he did things for her, to better meet her needs.  He also enjoyed looking at the pictures of the babies, watching them move from little blobs to more distinguishable human beings.  At twelve weeks, it had fingers and toes and could make a grasping motion.  

Other men in his shoes may have cautioned him not to become so enthralled with this tiny life, as he knew more than most, how quickly and easily it could all go away.  Conversely, however, there was comfort in knowing.  He knew so little about the one before, and it was always the not knowing that ate at him.  He thought to himself, realizing,  _ This must be the ‘worry’ they were talking about. _

The app helped for the day to day, but the ultrasound was what soothed him the most.  The rapid flashing of the tiny white dot on the screen in a rhythm too fast for him to catch.  The technician wasn’t able to tell him much, as they were not doctors, but they were allowed to explain that it was a heartbeat.  At first, that was all that had moved, and he was more than satisfied with just that.  And then like magic, a tiny little leg kicked out and the baby woke from its slumber, squirming and wiggling, kicking and punching.  

All of that was going on inside of Sansa, and she couldn’t yet feel it, but they could see it.  Petyr smiled, of course she couldn’t, it was less than the size of a lime at the time.  And the perfect size to have been conceived at fashion week.  Petyr had a new appreciation for limos now, as they carried so many memories with Sansa.   

Petyr popped his gum as he swiped through the app on his phone when he heard another set of feet crunching on the gravel.  He didn’t bother to look up, “Hello, Commissioner.”  

The pointy-faced man with more salt than pepper hair mused, “Why bring titles into it, Baelish?”  

“Because  _ Baratheon,  _ you’re only useful because of your title.”  Petyr saw no reason to butter Stannis up.  Middle children often saw through simple manipulation easily, anyway.  

Stannis laughed, “I enjoy our chats.”  

_ I don’t, _ Petyr thought to himself.  “Why did you call this meeting?”  

“I would like to raise my rate-”  Stannis started to explain but was cut off.  

“No.”  Petyr stood firm, expressionless.  Each family paid the police commissioner an agreed upon rate to keep judicial attention away from them and their activities.  Petyr was decided that he would not pay any more than he already was.   

Stannis’ smirk was trying Petyr’s patience, “Not with you.  The Lannisters.”  

Petyr chuckled, “So then give them a call.  Tyrion knows how to get here.  If not, I’ll text him directions.”  

“You have such a strong relationship with them, I was hoping you would put in a good word for me.”  Stannis sneered.  

Petyr wrinkled his brow in skepticism, “And why would I do that?”   

Stannis unbuttoned his blazer and looped his thumb through his belt, “Because you forget, a few years back, I kept your wife out of jail.”  

Melisandre.  She was the lead detective in the missing persons turned homicide case for Sandor Clegane.  As a favor to him, Stannis redirected her efforts to avoid attention on Sansa.  Petyr laughed back, “Melisandre?  That’s the card you’re pulling?”  

Stannis’ eyebrows furrowed and his lips tightened as he shot back, “What’s so amusing?  I helped you; I called my dog off.  Now, I’m coming to collect.”  

“Your  _ bitch _ is easily bought.  I could have paid her to disappear myself.  I included you in the ordeal out of respect.”  Petyr explained, impatiently.  

Stannis glared at him, “I don’t believe that for an instant.  If you did anything out of respect for me then, you wouldn’t be disrespecting me now.”  

“Touche,” Petyr chuckled.  “Unwarranted expectations are not welcome.  You are only involved as much as I allow, or you wouldn’t be coming to me about other families.  Know which hands feed you, Stannis.”  

Stannis paced uncomfortably in the dead end, obviously processing their back and forth, picking his next angle.  Petyr stifled a laugh, this Baratheon had a terrible poker-face, try as he might.  They all did, actually.  Petyr didn’t know Robert much, but from what he recalled, he didn’t even attempt to mute his emotions.  Stannis hid behind a mask of anger, though his attempt at strategizing was beyond obvious.  Renly was also quite readable, though probably the most capable Baratheon of hiding his true feelings.  Petyr attributed that to him being gay--it wasn’t always as safe to be different, and Renly hadn’t always been open about his preferences.  

“Fine.  I’ll look into the Tyrells.”  Stannis sighed.  

Petyr cocked an eyebrow in surprise and curiosity, “Oh?  And how would that appeal to me exactly?  As you know, our families are amiable.”  Except for that rotten bitch, Margaery.  She had been back for three months, and not done much but visit Olenna.  Petyr knew that there was something going on there, and so far Shae had failed to produce any answers.  Perhaps another set of eyes was not a bad thing.    

“Yes, but it is no secret how much the Lannisters hate them.  It’s also no secret how much closer to the Lannisters you are than the Tyrells.  Pleasing your friend would please you, wouldn’t it?  You both win, if I dig up information on that family.”  Stannis rubbed his forehead.  

Petyr let a small grin escape, “Yes, but it’s also ‘no secret’ how much your brother  _ loves _ them--having married into the family, and all.  He’s a part of them now.”  

Stannis growled, “My brother’s problems are not mine.”  

Now that was interesting.  Petyr probed further, “You’re willing to sell your brother out, simply because of who he associates with?  I never knew you to be  _ phobic. _ ”

“I don’t give a fuck who the little shit fucks,” Stannis spat out.  “I do however, care about my family.  I did things right, goddamn it.”  

Ah.  The wife.  And the sick kid.  Petyr knew of them, as he had Varys to look into them long ago.  Stannis had found religion and married a proper wife, who was also a bit of a frigid cunt.  Together they had one child, a little girl born with some rare skin condition.  Surgeries cost money.  All the praying in the world wouldn’t pay for them.  It was long ago now that Stannis chose to forsake his morals to afford his daughter’s medical bills.  Him asking for a raise in rate had to mean that there was a new surgery or treatment coming up.  

For a brief moment, Petyr wondered what he would do should he be in a similar situation.  He held the phone in his pocket, thinking of the application that told him everything modern science could about his little girl or boy, including the fact that by now it was one or the other.  Sansa’s belly had not even rounded yet, and already both she and the child within held the power to put Petyr in Stannis’ shoes.  

Sympathy was bad for business.  He stared back at Baratheon and saw the desperation he tried to hide behind his eyes.  He was choosing between his brother and his daughter, and Renly didn’t stand a chance.  Petyr understood that; he could respect that.  Empathy was actually very good for business.  

“I’ll tell you what, Baratheon.  I’ll propose a rate increase to the Lannisters, though I do not know what their terms will be, but I will lessen mine.”  Petyr smiled back as he almost spit his gum on the ground.  He caught himself and put it in a wrapper from his pocket, not wanting to leave any trace of his presence laying around.  

Stannis picked his head up, “Lessen them?”  

“Yes.”  Petyr crunched the gravel under his feet as he walked around, “I don’t need you to report on  _ all _ the Tyrells, just the sister.”  

Stannis chuckled, “Margaery.”  

Petyr nodded.

Stannis gave a greasy grin, “She’s a walking test of marriage.” 

“To some,” Petyr admitted neutrally.  His mind flashed to the coy smile and piercing blue eyes his wife controlled his desire with.  Margaery was no test of  _ his  _ marriage, that was for sure.  Regardless of how far her tits hung out, she didn’t even register to his dick.    

Stannis’ eyebrows furrowed, “What are you looking to find on her?”  

“Anything.  I want all information, starting with where she’s been for the past couple of years.  It’s been a couple of months and there hasn’t been much explanation and she’s proven to be deceptive in the past..”  Petyr gazed back at Stannis seriously, leaving no room for humor as he remembered clicking on her fake profile, choosing her to be his paid girl for an evening.  

Stannis shrugged, “Renly said she was overseas in the Peace Corps.”  

“Let’s see if she really was.”  Petyr insisted.  

Stannis stood silent for a moment, thinking.  Finally, he responded, “You just want info on her?”  

“Yes, that’s all  _ I  _ want.”  Petyr smirked, “It’s the price of my reference.  I can’t speak for what Jaime will want in exchange for actually agreeing to the increase.”  

Stannis sighed and nodded his head, “Fine.  I’ll put Melisandre on it.”  

“No,” Petyr shook his head, “you won’t.  I want someone a bit more subtle.  She’s anything but.”  

Baratheon nodded silently and started to walk off.  Petyr put his hands in his pockets and snickered, “Where are you going?”  

“Leaving?”  Stannis spoke as if Petyr were asking him a stupid question.  

Petyr slinked forward, schooling him, “No, you’re not.  We park a mile away from this spot for the confidentiality of our meetings.  We don’t leave at the same time.  And, you are not the one who goes first; you are the one who waits behind.”

Stannis glared back at him, nostrils flaring in frustration, “Who gives a shit who goes first?”  

“Judging by your expression, you do,” Petyr taunted as he walked back up the road.  As he got about fifty feet away he said, “When I get to my car, yours will be not so discreetly parked next to it, won’t it?”

Stannis growled behind him and Petyr only laughed harder as he walked away.  Robert had to have bought Stannis’ position as police commissioner, there was no way that Stannis actually earned the title.  There was no way that Stannis would ever actually make detective.  He wasn’t stupid, but he was extremely short-sighted and easily distracted by his own inner issues, and it made his own personal work messy.  Petyr was thankful that he wasn’t relying on him to do the dirty work, but instead just to order other, more skilled people to.  

When Petyr got in his car he received a text message from Sansa,  _ When you’re done, I’m at the Mockingbird. _

Petyr put his car in drive and headed for his club, the entire time humming to the music on his playlist.  He chuckled at himself, Petyr ‘Littlefinger’ Baelish, singing to the music like a sixteen year old girl who just got her license.  He couldn’t help it though, he was just so goddamned  _ happy _ .    

When he got to The Mockingbird, Sansa was sitting in a booth with Varys.  Petyr almost did a double-take.  It was extremely odd for them to associate without him as a buffer.  He never fully understood why his wife picked on the bald man so much.  But he figured it didn’t matter, as they still worked together when necessary.  Besides, Sansa was allowed her simple pleasures.  

As Petyr approached the table, they grew quiet in their conversation and greeted him.  He smiled playfully, “Why do I get the feeling you were talking about me?”  

“Because we were,” Sansa grinned back at him.  

He looked over at Varys, “Is that so?”  

The man returned his gaze and answered, “What else would we have in common?”  

Too right.  Petyr smiled and sat down next to Sansa.  He placed his hand on her thigh as he was prone to do and looked back at Varys, “Any clues as to what quality of mine warranted such discussion?”  

Sansa leaned over and kissed his cheek, “We’re arguing.”  

“I believe that,”  Petyr grinned, leaning into her kiss.  “Though, I don’t see any bloodshed…”  

Varys chuckled and waved at the bartender for the usual, Petyr’s favorite scotch.  “Of course not.  We’re arguing over whether or not we should open another club before or after the baby is born.”  

Petyr cocked an eyebrow at Sansa who was staring back at Varys, barely masking her annoyance with him.  She turned to Petyr and grinned, “I just think that life should go on, regardless of the pregnancy.”  

“And I think waiting would be wise,” Varys answered.  

Varys wanted to wait to open another club?  “Why is that?”  

“I just feel as though less stress is better.”  Varys poured himself and Petyr a drink and then he looked up at Sansa, “Oh, I’m so sorry.  I forgot, you can’t drink, can you?  We didn’t mean to leave you out.”  

Petyr wondered why Varys was being so obtuse--and rude.  Rather than coming immediately to her defense as he had learned, she did not like, Petyr focused on his drink.  He didn’t wait for Varys to pick up his glass, before Petyr picked up his own and downed it.  Sansa leaned over and kissed him deeply, swiping her tongue over his lips.  Varys sat staring ahead as he held his drink.  When Sansa pulled away from him, Petyr grinned back at Varys, “She can’t drink, but she gets a taste from me when I do.”  

Varys sipped his drink and rolled his eyes.  Petyr didn’t care if they were obnoxious, she felt too good to be embarrassed over.  Varys would understand that if he ever found himself a woman like Sansa.  Petyr rubbed her thigh and spoke, “Less stress is always a good thing.”  

Sansa scowled at him, “Yes, and the world keeps turning.  We can’t stop working just because we’re having a baby.”  

“I’m not saying,  _ stop,  _ I’m just saying,  _ prolong _ .”  Varys poured another drink.  

Petyr listened to his trusted advisor as he watched his wife cross her arms in annoyance.  He knew that look, she was seconds away from brushing his hand off her thigh.  Petyr bit the inside of his cheek before sighing, “Business as usual.”  

Sansa grinned and ran her hand over his, giving him a squeeze of approval.  Petyr looked back into her warm eyes, soft with her affection for him and her elation at winning whatever game she was playing with Varys.  Petyr clarified his decision, “I’m insisting on business as usual, because Varys, Sansa shouldn’t be stressed at all.  This is your area to handle, she’s not affected.”  

Varys groaned behind his drink, “I wasn’t talking about  _ her  _ stress level.”  

“Concerned for  _ me _ ?”  Petyr accepted another drink and then turned, kissing Sansa, “I’m touched.”  

Sansa quietly ran her tongue over her lips.  Petyr knew she was tasting the residue he left on her.  Varys stood up, “Should I leave the bottle?”  

Petyr watched Sansa tease him with the way she angled so he could see down her shirt, as he spoke to Varys, “No, take it away.”  

Sansa shifted against Petyr in the booth, constantly drawing his attention back to her mouth and away from Varys.  Often times the Baelishes would become caught up in each other’s charms and forget that other people existed.  Varys had learned when to take his cue to leave.  Though as he started to, Sansa sat up straight and gave the bald man her full attention as she spoke, “Your counsel is appreciated.”  

Petyr felt a little disoriented at her quick shift in attention, but was pleased to see her focus return to him.  He rubbed her thigh affectionately as his mind worked, scrutinizing her interaction with Varys.  There was no sarcasm that Petyr could tell, no hidden barbs to her words or her tone.  She appeared to be  _ genuine. _  That was surprising, especially since she usually delighted in being cruel to him.  He looked back at Varys who held her gaze for a moment before nodding his head and leaving.  Something had gone on there.  Petyr wasn’t sure what, and before he had time to consider it further, Sansa had slumped against his arm, yawning, “Take me home.” 

Petyr sighed happily at the feel of her resting against him, and the smell of her clean rain scented lotion.  He brought his lips down to the top of her head and pressed a light kiss, “Gladly.”        


	16. Better With Risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye July

Sansa stood in front of her closet trying to fasten her pants, shocked to find that she couldn’t.  She knew logically that she shouldn’t be surprised, but yet, she was.  Her hand slid over her stomach, not feeling any bulge, or protruding lump identifying that there was a baby growing beneath the surface.  Instead, there was just a thickness to her that wasn’t there before.  It wasn’t weight gain, as she had not been able to eat much of anything for weeks, and her cheeks and thighs were actually thinning.  

She felt so clumsy lately with her exhaustion and her forgetfulness, lost in a daze most of the time.  Sansa hadn’t been paying attention and bumped her drink with her elbow, spilling it all over her dress.  Petyr looked at her with concern and she laughed at herself in front of him, attempting to dismiss it away.  She knew he was ecstatic about this baby, which according to him was now the length of a pea pod and in just two days would somehow miraculously graduate to the size of a lemon.  

His involvement was both a blessing and a curse.  She knew she needed his energy to keep her spirits up, as no child deserved to have a less than enthusiastic mother.  Her mind flashed to Lancel and the Frey girl.  However, the more excited Petyr got, the more anxious Sansa became, fearing she would disappoint him again.  She could take the pain of the loss, but she didn’t wish it on him.  When she declared she wanted to try again, she did not anticipate being pregnant so soon.    

Trying again in vain to button her pants, she realized that this was the first time she felt as though this may actually happen for them.  None of the other milestones seemed to sink in: not when she found out that she surpassed the previous pregnancy, not when she saw the baby moving on the screen at the ultrasound, not even listening to the heartbeat on the doppler at the doctor’s office.  The back of her mind always carried doubt.  She feared it was a misdiagnosis, they were seeing the wrong woman’s ultrasound, and that the doppler must have been playing a recording from a different appointment.  Did those things record?  

She returned everyone’s smile, and rattled off how far along she was each time they asked.  She worked to bring the smile to her eyes each time Petyr told her the same thing that  _ their _ pregnancy app told her.  Sleep was a godsend to her in that it was the one time no one expected her to think about the baby and plan a future years ahead.  Well, sleep  _ and sex _ .  She used sex to soothe his concern for her lackluster responses to every detail of her pregnancy.  And she used it to satiate her greedy need for something to just be about them.   

Sansa pulled her pants off and shifted them to the bottom of her closet, knowing they would be of no use to her for now.  She started rifling through her hangers thinking about which clothes were looser fitting than the others.  She made a clear divide between “I can wear this,” “I can squeeze into this still,” “I can’t wear this anymore,” and “I’ll never get to wear that again.”  She grabbed a looser dress from the, “I can wear this” section and sighed at the large section of, “I can’t wear this anymore.”  

_ My clothes don’t fit,  _ She typed into her phone, with a long face.  

Sansa closed her closet doors and walked to her full length mirror trying to imagine her stomach growing.  She had seen plenty of pregnancy photos where women looked good with a full and rounded belly.  Sansa wasn’t worried about how she would look pregnant.  She was, however, afraid of how she would look afterward.  The thought of a large sagging deflated belly jiggling about, muffining over her pants, was enough to make her shudder in disgust.  This was not about being fat or skinny, it was about being stretched out and used up.  She turned around from the mirror feeling repulsed by the idea of having to see herself that way and was suddenly struck by a thought.  The sheer fact that she was even thinking of this meant that to some degree she was accepting this new reality.  Before she realized she was doing it, she was grinning.  

Her phone lit up and she looked down at the response,  _ I’m assuming that you’re sharing this with me because you want someone to spend money with.     _

Sansa smiled again and typed back,  _ If it’s something I have to do, best to do it with a skilled shopper.   _

Seconds later her phone buzzed back with a less than sympathetic response,  _ Complimenting me doesn’t hide your self-pity.  _

Fucking Cersei.  Sansa pursed her lips in frustration, though a smile still snuck out as she typed back,  _ Bitch. _

Instantly, emojis of lipstick lip kisses and dollar bills popped up.  A message read beneath it, _ Ha-ha, always.  _ _ Maybe a new wardrobe would help our dispositions?   _

Sansa started walking out of the bedroom as she replied,  _ It usually does.  I’ll get back to you on when.   _

She knew she shouldn’t ask the Lannister for help, however friendly she was, knowing it was always ideal to manage independently.  However, Cersei was the best person to take shopping, especially for this reason.  She had been through this three times before, all while living as head to the Lannister clan.  Cersei had managed to conceal any hormonal vulnerability and, more importantly, she had done it in style.  Arya couldn’t help Sansa with this, Jon definitely couldn’t, and try as he might, Petyr could not either.  For a flicker of a moment, Sansa wondered how her mother, the great Catelyn Stark, mother to five, would have helped her.  

Sadness swept over her as she mindlessly walked through the house, thinking of her late mother.  Sansa had worked herself up to the idea that a maternal presence was not a necessity of life, nice to have, but not a requirement.  She didn’t need some warm motherly discussion on her wedding day, and she told herself she wouldn’t need it now.  There were lots of women in the world who became mothers, never knowing their own--except that Sansa had known hers.  And she was everything Sansa felt a mother should be: warm and strong, strict and proud, capable of everything and willing to do  _ anything _ for her family.  Sansa wondered if she could ever be half the woman her mother was.  

Dr. Luwin assured her of the viability of the pregnancy, and through his words about her mother, Sansa felt some reassurance.  After her exam, he smiled at her as he helped her off the table and said, “If it weren’t for your bright red hair, I would think I had Catelyn on my table again.”  The old man laughed light-heartedly as he spoke, “So serious and thoughtful, just like your mother.  She worried with each and every one of you.”  

“She worried?”  Sansa asked, latching onto the word she identified most with.  Lost in her need to hear more about her mother, she almost forgot Petyr was with her.  

Dr. Luwin smiled and nodded warmly, though his distant gaze told her that there was more, more he wasn’t telling her.  Sansa walked past Petyr and circled around to Dr. Luwin at the small computer desk, looming over him, “Why was she so worried, doctor?”  

He looked up at her, trying to evade, “Women often are…”  

“No.  There’s more there.”  Sansa’s jaw was firm as she ignored Petyr’s warm embrace from behind her and his calm voice saying her name.  

She would not be deterred, “No.  I need to know this.”  

Dr. Luwin shook his head, “I apologize, I am bound by confidentiality not to discuss patients.  I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.  In my old age, it slipped out.  Even though she has passed, it would be unethical for me to share any of her private information.”  

Sansa lost her patience, only the feel of Petyr’s hand holding her belly kept her voice under control as she spoke through her teeth, “You know who I am, and you know who my husband is.  Ethics are not a concern here.  Tell me about my mother.”  

In a bout of courage that Sansa did not expect from the old man, Dr. Luwin stood up to face them directly as he spoke, “I do know who you and your husband are.  And that is exactly why it’s crucial that I don’t speak.  If I share these secrets with you, you will question my integrity.  How will you know that I am not spilling your secrets to another family?  If I am to keep you as a patient, and myself alive and breathing, I need to keep everyone’s confidences.”  

Petyr was the first to respond, chuckling over her shoulder, “Smart man.  I will tell you what, if you make my wife happy, you may keep your life.  Moreover, I will even provide you with a bodyguard.”  

“Bodyguard?”  Dr. Luwin looked back skeptically.  

Petyr nodded, his chin touching Sansa’s shoulder, “Yes.  You are going to be delivering our child, your life is very precious.  Additionally, you are very smart and because of that, you won’t deceive us.  You will be our family’s new trusted physician.  I’m sure your knowledge extends past gynecology?”  

“Of course, but that doesn’t matter.  I’m an OBGYN, my work is centered on obstetrics and gynecology, not general practice.”  Dr. Luwin shook his head at the absurdity of the idea.  

“Doctors often moonlight, it might be time to bone up on your other skills for when you are called.  Because Doctor, people are often found to be expendable even when they can keep a secret.”  Petyr warned through his smile.  

Sansa felt the kiss he pressed against her neck, a silent token of his support for her sudden need to interrogate the man.  She tilted her head against his for a moment, showing him appreciation.  Dr. Luwin did not speak, he just stared back.  The way his eyes dilated, Sansa knew he was thinking over Petyr’s words.  Her soft voice stirred him out of his thoughts as she appealed to him, “Please.  This is not an opposing family asking for information, looking to start a turf war.  I am her daughter.  She was my mother.  Please tell me about her.”    

Dr. Luwin sighed and gestured for her to sit back down.  Petyr sat back on the table, and pulled her to lean back against him as they listened to the old man.  “Your mother was very fertile as you know, having plenty of children--five these days is a lot.  Though with that, she also had her fair share of losses.”  

Sadness gripped Sansa’s stomach as she thought of her mother sharing her gruesome experience.  She found herself caught on the word: loss _ es. _  Plural.  She swallowed hard as she listened to Dr. Luwin.  “The first time, it devastated her, and truth be told, I feel very lucky to be alive.  Your father was--” He paused trying to find a nice way of putting things, “very  _ protective _ of your mother.”  

Leaning against Petyr as he supported her back and held her, Sansa understood Dr. Luwin’s meaning completely.  He continued, “But your father, for the business he was in-- _ you _ are in, was a fair man.  He understood that sometimes these things…”  

Petyr’s muscles flex around her possessively, and her own body tensed in preparation for Dr. Luwin to finish the sentence.  After a thoughtful pause, he did, “are out of our control.”  

Sansa relaxed in Petyr’s arms and felt him ease around her.  It was true, so completely  _ true _ .  This was less about something that had happened to her and more about what she was unable to prevent.  “Happen” was luck of the draw.  “Out of our control” was one hundred percent their inability to manage the situation.  There was a certainty in a loss of control that there wasn’t with random acts of  _ happen.   _ This man understood.  She could see why her mother trusted only him with her pregnancies--despite the losses.  

He continued, “She miscarried between each child, except for her two youngest.  Both boys if I recall.” 

Sansa nodded her head, appreciative that he would remember from so long ago, after so many patients.  He added with a note of remorse, “Her body had no problem getting pregnant, but often forgot how to stay that way.”  

Sansa felt Petyr’s fingers defensively dig into her belly and she prepared herself to disappoint him again as they listened to Dr. Luwin explain, “A lot of doctors, especially the young ones will tell you to wait to get your cycle back on track before you try again, to make sure your hormones are level.  An imbalance of hormones can be cause enough to prematurely end a pregnancy.  But in some cases, trying immediately after a loss is the best thing.”  

Sansa’s head lifted and she felt Petyr lean further other her shoulder, listening intently as Dr. Luwin explained, “There’s so much blood flow when a woman is pregnant, it courses in high volumes down to her uterus, cervix, nerve endings…”  

Dr. Luwin trailed off uncomfortably and Sansa felt the fingers of Petyr’s other hand squeeze at her hip suggestively.  Sansa took a deep breath, trying not to blush in front of her mother’s-- _ her  _ doctor.  There was a brief pause as Dr. Luwin flushed and continued, “It’s the blood that feeds the baby.  And some people believe that when a baby is lost and the body is already in a mode to deliver blood to the area, it becomes a very fertile ground, made to support life better.  It’s true that the hormone shifts can be harmful, but the blood flow is critical.  Catelyn’s body always held the baby after a loss because of the increased blood flow.  She never waited to allow her hormones to level out before she was conceiving again, said something about the wait being hard on her husband.”  

Dr. Luwin coughed, realizing that he had probably said too much.  Sansa felt embarrassed as she realized her father’s need for her mother.  While their love for each other was clear to anyone with eyes, they always seemed so in control of their passion in front of her.  For the briefest of moments, she related their marriage to hers and felt comfort in the likeness between the two.  

“The point that I am trying to get across, Sansa, is that if you take after your mother, there is no concern for this child.”  Dr. Luwin nodded his head towards Sansa’s belly.  “It’s heartbeat is strong, the ultrasound came back very positive, and you have a family history of successful birth after miscarriage.”

Petyr gripped her tighter, hugging her in reassurance.  She knew she should feel it, but she didn’t.  She didn’t even feel as though it was real until just now, unable to fit in over half of her wardrobe.  It was not that the information from Dr. Luwin didn’t help, it was just that she found herself missing her mother more than taking comfort in the genetic promise of a “successful birth.”  

She was exceedingly grateful to Varys for giving her Dr. Luwin’s name, as unexpected as it was.  Feeling too sick to bother with Stark-Naked, Sansa had spent a lot of time at home lately.  Getting cabin fever, she decided to wait at The Mockingbird for Petyr’s meeting with Stannis to conclude.  She did not anticipate Varys’ request for a private audience with her, motioning to an empty booth.  Baffled that he would want her time, Sansa agreed out of curiosity.  

When they sat down, the man in love with her husband, the man she tortured for years, spoke first, “You need a new doctor.”   

Sansa sat opposite him, her face blank, giving nothing away.  He smiled at her determination, “Though, perhaps an old doctor would be a better fit.”  

Sansa cocked her eyebrow before saying, “I don’t have the patience for you when you are not speaking in riddles, let alone when you are.”  

Varys sighed and continued, “Dr. Luwin.”  

“What about him?”  Realizing that it might be a her, she added, “Her?”  

“Him,” Varys confirmed.  “ _ He _ used to be your mother’s doctor.”  

_ Mom.   _ Sansa felt an icicle stab her heart, but kept a mask of mild interest as she stared ahead at him, “Why would you share this information with me?”  

Varys stared back, not flinching or avoiding her gaze as he answered, “Regardless of how you’ve treated me over the years, I will not see him harmed.”

Him, being Petyr.  Varys may not be able to warm his bed like Sansa could, but he could be ever the loyal servant.  Cherishing the man’s child would not only increase Petyr’s regard for him, but also bring him closer to Petyr if by nothing else than through their mutual affection for the child.  Sansa saw right through him, “So, it’s  _ Uncle  _ Varys, is it?” 

The big man smiled, “If the Baelishes are so inclined as to recognize me as an uncle-figure, then I am happy to accept the role.”  

Sansa glared back at him, instinctively unwilling to budge or give.  She began to slowly shake her head, no.  Varys sighed, “You’ve won!  Don’t you see that?  Petyr will never acknowledge my feelings for him.  You will always reign supreme in his heart.”  

She turned her head, squinting at him, this was too easy, “You’re giving up,  _ now?”   _

“Sweetheart, I gave up a long time ago.  He is as perfect today as he was the day I watched him snap Clegane’s neck and take over the east side.”  Varys sighed at the memory.  

Sansa thought his wanderlust for the old days may have made him remember wrong.  Snapping a Clegane neck would not give Petyr control of the East, but instead the north.  In order to take the East, he had to have killed her aunt Lysa and uncle Jon.  For a fraction of a second, she felt something about him killing her aunt and then she remembered the cold and awful woman and ceased to care.  She had never asked Petyr how he took over the East and it wasn’t exactly something that came up in conversation.  So, she let that sleeping dog lay and listened to Varys continue, “And it’s easy for me to overlook mountains of whores, but you are…”  He searched for the word, “ _ permanent. _ ”  

Sansa didn’t try to hide her smug smile.  “Lots of things are permanent, it doesn’t mean that you have to accept them.  Why the change in heart?”  

Varys smiled, “My heart has not changed, which is why I would protect his children with my life, and offer the best that I can.”  

There was a pause as Sansa considered his words.  Varys pleaded, “I was hoping, that it would be you that would have the change in heart.  You know that he will never in a million years accept me the way I want, why bother being cruel about it too?”  

Sansa let his reasoning roll around in her brain as she asked, “Dr. Luwin?”  

Varys offered a hopeful smile, “Yes.  My research tells me that he was your mother’s doctor for all five children.  He’s obviously older now, but still up and running.”  

Sansa nodded, accepting his information, knowing that she would double check it with Shae later.  She wasn’t coming up with much on Margaery anyway, pulling her away from her case for a short while wouldn’t put them far back.  

Varys told her that Petyr was approaching and she decided to go back to business as usual, still not feeling entirely won over by Varys’ gesture.  She teased him in front of Petyr as always, though this time, pulling some of her punches, as she considered their conversation.  It was easy to pretend to argue against anything Varys said to keep up appearances.  It was not easy however, to allow the man to leave without acknowledging his attempt at a treaty.  She thanked him for his consult, hoping the words would be guarded enough, and Petyr would be baby-crazy enough, to not have to explain herself to her husband.  Now, almost two weeks later, she was happy to report that Petyr had not asked any questions.  She was extremely thankful for that pregnancy app.  

She was also thankful for Varys’ olive branch, however weary of it she was, as it brought her closer to her mother at a time when she needed it most.  Wandering through the house, Sansa felt her head swirl with all the events of the past couple of weeks.  It wasn’t until she almost walked into the mossy green eyes of her husband that she blinked away her daze and smiled back at him, realizing he stood before her, “Petyr.”  

“Come with me.”  He whipped around, tugging her behind him.  

_ Always. _  She would always go with him.  The heaviness in her heart lightened at his attention, “Where are we going?”  

“It’s a surprise.”  He grinned over his shoulder as he grabbed their coats and brought her to the garage, beeping his lexus unlocked. 

Sansa got in and felt a flutter in her stomach.  She loved surprises, especially Petyr’s.  He climbed in and started the engine, giving her warm smile.  After he shifted gears and was on the road, she reached for his hand, seeking the comfort of his touch.  She wanted to ask him where they were going, but decided it best not to.  Instead, she asked, “Why the surprise?”  

He smiled in such a way that did not reach his eyes as he answered, “Because you need one.”  

“Oh?”  She smiled back at him, feeling the anxiety of the past hour fading away as she wondered what he was concealing.    

Petyr turned the car toward the city and picked up their joined hands, pressing a kiss to the back of hers.  He said simply, “Yes.”

“That’s all you’re giving me?”  She craned her neck around to catch a glance from him as he drove, “Nothing else to work from?”  

He smirked, not answering.  

Sansa turned the phrase,  _ because you need one, _ over and over in her head.  What did he mean by that?  She didn’t know what she needed, why should he?  Because he always seemed to.  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she let her head fall back on the passenger seat.  Never letting go of his hand, she felt his thumb rub tiny circles on the back of hers.  And she knew that whatever it was she was lacking, he would provide for her.  

She opened her eyes as the car slowed to a stop, and looked at all the closed storefronts around her.  Petyr hopped out of the car and glided around to her side, opening the door for her.  Sansa let him help her out, recognizing the chivalry in the gesture and the excitement that turned his eyes a vibrant green.  

Sansa pulled her peacoat closed against the cold as she followed Petyr’s lead down the street.  There was plenty of foot traffic even though the majority of the shops were closed.  To her knowledge, there were no clubs that they would be going to around this part of town, and she couldn’t figure out why Petyr would bring them down here.  As they passed more and more homeless people and hooded venders, Sansa drew closer to Petyr.  Wrapping her arm around him, she felt a bulge in his coat under his armpit and realized he was carrying his beretta.  

Where the hell was he taking her?  Sansa suddenly felt underdressed for whatever was to come next, as she hadn’t packed any weapons.  In fact, she hadn’t even brought her purse.  He pulled her out the door so hastily that she felt lucky he thought to snag her coat.  She looked up at him with increasing apprehension forming across her brow.  He kissed her forehead after catching sight of her, and said, “Don’t worry.”

She was about to open her mouth to protest when he suddenly pulled her to the side, off of the sidewalk.  She looked down the dark alley they stood in, seeing some doors and a large overflowing dumpster.  Petyr placed himself in front of her, blocking her view of the sidewalk, though she felt he was truly blocking any view of her.  Sansa ran her hand up his back and kissed his shoulder, reminding him that she was there along for whatever ride he was taking her on.  After a couple of minutes, he turned and nudged her down the alley.  They came to a dingy grey door with two deadbolts and a keypad, and Sansa wondered what storefront it belonged to.  

Petyr turned to her, and gripped her face, pulling her into a long kiss.  Sansa barely felt the pavement under her feet when he pulled away and explained, “I couldn’t find my bump-key so this may take a minute.”    

Bump-key?  Sansa nodded back at him as he let go of her and turned to the door.  He crouched down and pulled some long metal picks out of his inside coat pocket.  Sansa watched Petyr work on the top lock, as she kept an eye out to make sure no one was watching.  Goosebumps covered her skin and her nipples hardened at the thrill of their illegal activities.  Petyr glanced back over his shoulder at her as the top lock clicked open, grinning.  She couldn’t tell if he was simply happy over succeeding in picking the lock or if he could tell how seeing his skills applied was affecting her.  He looked ten years younger when he delved into things she knew had once been commonplace for him as he climbed the ladder to his current status.   

On this lock, he whispered, “The hook goes in the bottom, and hangs out.  You want a longer end to it, for the leverage when you are trying to twist the locking cylinder.”  He held up a pick that was bent at a ninety degree angle for her to see.  She crouched down next to him so that she could watch better, and so she could be closer to him.  God, his cologne smelled good.  Petyr inserted the hook and let it hang there as he held up another pick, “This one will do most of your work for you.”  

He slid it in and out a bunch of times, “You have to scrub the pins, and feel how many there are.  All locks are different.  This one is a five point lock, so we need to focus on the clicks.  Keep light tension on your anchor and when you feel some give you know it's time to twist clockwise.”  Sansa smiled proudly as she heard a click and Petyr was turning the lock.  Two locks down, all that was left was a number pad.  Petyr put the picks back in his coat and pulled out a pocket knife.  He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek before he wedged the knife in the seam of the plastic casing and pried it open.  A small bundle of wires fell out and Petyr instantly cut the red ones and poked at a metallic looking rectangle inside.  Suddenly, all the lights on the number pad lit up and then went out.  Petyr smiled at her, “Why try to guess a number when you can just short it out entirely?”      

They both stood up, Petyr opened the door and went in first.  Sansa crept in behind him, but stopped immediately when he signaled.  He pointed down at a red laser beam about a foot off the floor no more than five feet in front of the door.  Petyr looked around the room and side stepped over to one of the support pillars that held the security box.  Sansa closed the door behind her, not daring to take a step in any direction as she watched him crane his body over to the security box without crossing the beam.  After a couple of minutes, the red line disappeared and Petyr walked freely over to her, “Everything’s disarmed now, we can move around.”  

Sansa wrapped her arms around him and kissed him passionately, letting him know the arousing effect he had on her whenever he was more hands on with his work.  She was very thankful that she had married a man smart enough to get others to do his bidding, though there was something to be said for a man who was willing to roll up his sleeves and get the job done himself.  The question was, what was the job?  

Petyr pulled away smiling, and popped another mint in his mouth before he said, “I should break into jewelers more often.”  

“Jewelers?”  Sansa asked, only then realizing that she had no idea where they were.  Petyr took her hand and lead her out of the back room, and into the showcase room.  All the lights were out except for the display cases, as it was well after hours.  

Petyr looked behind the main counter, crouching down rifling through things before finally standing upright and smiling.  Sansa watched him come back around the counter and stand next to her as he spoke, “I had this commissioned for you.”  

“You ordered this?  Why did we break in if you bought this?”  Sansa asked incredulously, staring at his hand, unable to get a good look at the piece he was holding.  

Petyr backed her against the display counter, pressing himself to her as he held up a white gold bracelet with a locket on it covered in swirls and designs.  At the center of it was a bright red ruby that sparkled in the dim lighting from the display cases and the street light that shined in through the window front.  His eyes lit up as he purred, “Because everything is made better by risk.  The locket alone is not my gift to you, but also the experience of stealing it.”  

Sansa understood the truth of his words, stealing it made it more special.  She leaned forward and kissed his jaw, “You’re right.”  

He chuckled and joked, “Of course I am.”  He raised her arm and clasped the bracelet on her wrist.  Sansa admired its beauty and watched Petyr smile as he fingered the gemstone in the center, speaking softly, “You have been worried.”  

Feeling a twinge of defensiveness, having been trying to conceal her concerns from him, Sansa spoke firmly, “I have been excited.”  

Petyr nodded, “Yes.  And worried.”  He leaned forward and rubbed her lips with his, the smell of mint lingering under her nose as he spoke, “Don’t try to hide it, I’ll always find it.  Whatever upsets you-- I’ll find it and I’ll put an end to it.”  

Sansa pecked at his lips, hovering over and rubbing hers, trying to pull him into a kiss.  He would not allow her to, however.  She sighed, “I can’t help it.”  She confessed, “Every day, the thought pops into my head that I may very well lose this one too.”  

Petyr slid his arms around her, pulling her up against him, “I can stand here and tell you to remember Dr. Luwin’s words, and remind you that the probability of miscarriage at fourteen weeks drops down to one percent, but this isn’t about any of that.”  

Sansa furrowed her eyebrows, staring back skeptically.  “It’s not?”  

Petyr kissed her cheek, “You can’t put energy into this baby until you’ve had closure for the last one.”  

His words rang true to her, as she felt her heart speed up, caught in the honesty of it.  Guilt flooded her as she silently apologized to the small life growing inside of her.  Petyr picked up her wrist and pointed to the ruby on the locket, “Rubies are the gemstone for July, when it would have been due.”  

Sansa felt her stomach jump into her chest and her eyes water at the sentiment.  She watched Petyr gently kiss her wrist, trailing his fingers down to the bracelet, sliding the chain around.  Sansa’s voice caught in her throat as she whispered, “It never had a name.”  

Petyr smiled affectionately back at her, “Then let’s give it one.  Boy or girl?” 

Sansa chuckled at the oddity of the moment, picking a gender for a child that probably never had a heartbeat let alone opposable thumbs.  Pety grinned looking back at her, seeming to understand what she was thinking without speaking.  Finally, she looked at the locket on her wrist and bit her lip with uncertainty as she said, “July?”  

“July?”  He asked as he searched her face.  She wanted to explain that anything was better than, “It,” or “Loss,” but she didn’t know how.  She nodded her head and held his gaze, hoping her eyes would say what her mouth couldn’t.  He reached up, holding her face as he kissed her forehead and said, “Okay, July it is.”  

Petyr wrapped his arms around her and she stared out the store window to the people passing by, wondering if they could see them in this private moment between husband and wife, _ father and mother _ .  After a while, she picked her head off of his shoulder and felt him do the same.  She held her wrist up to him and asked, “Why a locket?”  

“Because it, _ like you _ , holds things inside,”  Petyr explained, smiling warmly at her.  It was said with affection, but his gaze left her feeling completely and utterly exposed.  

Sansa blinked back at him, unsure what to say.  She struggled to swallow, her mouth going dry.  She watched his hands slowly move to the locket, and open it for her to see.  Engraved on one side of the locket were the words,  _ The future is not lost. _  On the other side, the locket read,  _ Only changed. _

How true those words were.  She had not only been mourning a life she was unable to nurture, but also a future she would never know, believing it lost forever.  Petyr was right, nothing was lost, only different.  She still had him.  She still had the baby that grew within her.  And she owed it to all of them to finally let go.  He searched her eyes, waiting for a reaction.  The hesitant way his mouth twitched as he stared back at her revealed how nervous he was.  It was entirely believable that he feared the locket did not have the desired effect.  Her husband was confident in many things, but was prone to second-guessing himself when it came to his effect on her.  She understood it, but still found it ludicrous, as he tended to be the only person who could reach her when she was unreachable, always instinctively knowing just what to do.  

In just two days,  she would be in her second trimester, carrying a strong and healthy baby that promised to make it to term according her exam and ultrasound.  It was time to allow air to fill her lungs again and unclench her fists, to stop bracing herself for the worst and let herself enjoy the beauty of what her body was creating.  She looked back into the grey-green eyes that studied her and suddenly felt a desperate need to hold him inside of her.   

Sansa leaned forward, placing a kiss on his lips.  The gentle way Petyr returned it told her how unexpected her desire was.  So she pressed harder and moved faster.  She pulled at his shirt as she devoured his mouth.  His hands cradled the back of her head as they kissed, and he let her turn him so that he was backed up against the display case.  She continued to push forward into him, against the natural resistance the counter forced upon them.  She reached for his belt and he broke away from her lips, “Sansa?”   

Sansa worked his belt free, reaching her hand down his pants as she breathed, “I need you.”  

As if they were the magic words, Petyr’s mouth descended on hers and his hands traveled her body, grabbing handfuls of curves and digging his fingers into the flat planes in between.  He did not question or hesitate, only gave her all of himself on demand.  She pulled away from his mouth long enough to yank his coat and shirt off, listening to the heavy thud of his holstered gun fall to the floor, and kiss the long pink line that marred him from stem to sternum.  Where most people would find the scar grotesque, she adored it as a reminder of what they could survive together.  

Unable to wait, she pulled his cock out, rubbing it with one hand as she threaded her fingers in his hair with the other and said, “ _ Now. _ ”  

Petyr’s hands reached up her dress, grabbing and pulling her damp underwear down.  Sansa squirmed, kicking them off frantically.  Petyr lifted one of her legs and held her dress out of the way so that Sansa could line him up to her opening.  Without delay to tease either of them, Sansa jutted down on top of him.  Petyr uttered a startled groan and grabbed her hips, as much for stability as to help her move.  He quickly lost his footing and started to slide down to the floor, taking her with him.  Feeling the rough carpet under her knees, she straddled his lap as he leaned back against the jewelry counter.

Petyr pulled her jacket down off of her shoulders as Sansa arched her chest into him, feeling his hand uncover and cup one of her breasts.  She bounced freely outside of her bra as she came down on him harder and harder.  His eyes lit up as he watched her pant her exertion, and he grinned as he ran his hand up to her jaw, turning her head away.  She closed her eyes, feeling his mouth kiss a line down her neck and then heard the mischief in his whisper, “Smile for the camera.”  

Her eyes snapped open and she looked behind her, just then noticing a dim red dot dangling from the ceiling.   _ Fuck, _ was her first thought.  And then something stirred in her that she hadn’t felt in awhile, her exhibitionistic need to be watched.  Petyr reached down, pulling up her dress further, exposing her ass to the camera and Sansa found herself grinning as she kept a steady rhythm in his lap.  He nuzzled his face into her neck and whispered, “I’ll steal the memory card before we leave.  Don’t worry, no one will see.”  

Her relief was ruined by a cloud of disappointment.  She didn’t exactly want a Sansa Baelish sex tape in circulation, but having no one ever see it took the thrill out of it.  She felt the pressure building up inside of her, as the angle she rode him goaded her insides, promising a powerful finish.  He held her flush to him with one hand and rubbed her exposed backside with the other.  Her question was a whisper, “Will you watch it later?”  She knew he would, but she needed to hear him say it.  

“Yes,” he ground the answer out through his teeth, his own pressure building.  Unexpectedly, the hand that rubbed so tenderly, spanked her and she felt a tingling vibration reverberate through the bundle of nerves she nestled against his abdominal muscles.  

She whimpered his name as she reached one hand back up to the display counter and snuggled her face into his neck, feeling him smooth her hair down her back.  The locket tapped against the glass in time with their mutual motion.  A loud moan escaped her, echoing through the empty store.  They melted into each other, reaching for the closure they needed to be open to what lay ahead.   


	17. The Lannister Treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr plastered a large grin on his face; it was showtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to Starktasticc who helped me with an indecisive line ;-) And of course as always to the lovely Faradaze who challenges me when I need it and supports me always. 
> 
> Also, you may have noticed I put 35 chapters as the end. This is tentative. I have 35 major scenes plotted in my brain, but I'm wordy and let dialogue run on its own often, requiring that sometimes chapters be split into two. So this number 35 is a working number. I put it up as a promise of a minimum.

Petyr kept his phone on mute so Varys wouldn’t hear sounds of sex as Petyr watched the fuzzy footage of his wife’s ass bounce in his lap on the floor of the jewelry store.  They’d had sex a dozen times since that night, but he still couldn’t get that time out of his head.  The surveillance video did not do Sansa justice, it was grainy and the various shades of black and white drained the fiery red color from her hair.  

He had watched the video over and over again, noting how much it did not capture: her breathless whispers in his ear, the look on her face as she told him she needed him, or the desperate way she pressed against him, unable to ever get close enough.  It was not the video, but instead the memory of it, that contributed to his growing erection.    

Petyr shifted in his seat and angled his phone so that only he could watch the recording of his wife aggressively riding him.  Littlefinger often prided himself in his ability to read people; to know their needs and motives.  He would make himself an indispensable friend, as he latched his claws in, gripping for the climb over them.  It was no surprise to Littlefinger that his young, vulnerable wife would crawl in his lap looking for his power and experience to lead the way.  

It was surprising to  _ Petyr _ , however, that the bold and brutal, self-reliant woman would find what she needed  _ in him _ .  He smiled to himself as he remembered stroking her long locks while she ravenously burrowed into his neck.  Reminiscing, he thought,  _ Yes, take what you need, I’ll always provide _ .   _ You and me, that’s all that matters.  _  He would steal her a thousand lockets if it would let him live in a repetitive cycle of that memory until the day he died.   

“Will you be discussing the police commissioner today?” Varys’ voice interrupted Petyr’s thoughts.  

Petyr looked up from his phone, “Why would you ask?”  

Varys smiled politely across from him as the car pulled to a stop, “He called again.  He said he had some information for you.”  

Petyr sighed, knowing that the information would either be irrelevant or incomplete.  It had been almost three weeks since Stannis requested Petyr’s support in raising his rate with the Lannisters and Petyr had not yet assisted him.  That was due in part to Stannis’ incompetency and also in part to Petyr’s hesitation to meet with the Lannisters any more than necessary.  Petyr did not find the comradery in Jaime that Sansa was finding in Cersei.  He, therefore, kept his social engagements with him limited--just frequent enough to avoid any suspicion.  

Petyr got out of the car, and glanced back to make sure Varys followed.  Tyrion had contacted Varys with the invitation to golf, making today’s meeting unavoidable.  Everything meant something, and any invitation to business could not be declined.  “Golf” meant real estate, just like “catch a show” meant drugs and “guy’s night” meant guns and other black-market goods.  Petyr did not have to wonder what real estate they would be discussing as he was certain it was the subdivision project they had been working on for months.  He took little to no interest in it, the deal was pretty straight forward.  He allowed Varys to manage most of it, though checked in regularly.    

Come to think of it, why had Varys been arguing with Sansa about opening a club when as far as Petyr knew, there were no such prospects?  All of Varys’ efforts were being put into this subdivision project with the Lannisters.  Unless it was just something said to cover the real reason why they were talking…  Petyr realized he was glaring at Varys and had to force a friendly smile and look away, knowing it best not to show his thoughts and feelings until he was ready to share them.  

Sansa appeared fine after talking to Varys, so Petyr doubted the subject matter was upsetting.  Why keep such privacy?  And why with Varys of all people, someone she felt was so beneath her?  He gave himself a mental shake, choosing not to question further.  Sansa was good.  She was okay.  He knew this for sure.  Whatever the two had talked about was irrelevant, it was weeks ago, probably just another game.  Since then, Sansa made it through her first trimester, and found closure in their private moments.  Petyr bit back a grin at the memory of her falling asleep in the car as he drove them home from the jewelry store.  She placed her head on his shoulder, leaning over the console.  It was the most peaceful he had seen her in months.  So, whatever had transpired between her and Varys, did not matter.  

Varys, on the other hand, lied to Petyr.  It may have been just a white lie, but a lie nonetheless.  Petyr resolved to keep a closer eye on his  _ trusted _ right hand.  He wanted to see if Varys was keeping anything else from him.  As they walked together into the country club, Varys strode ahead to find where the Lannisters were.  Petyr took his time, strolling in behind him.  He knew he would have to be different today.  He could not think about the intimate way his gorgeous wife held him close, placing her leg over his in bed as she slept so soundly now.  Just as he could not think of the baby within her that was forming tastebuds this week and about the size of an apple.  It was time to step into Littlefinger’s shoes and get some work done.  

Varys came out with a set of keys and a bottle of bourbon, motioning for a golf cart.  Petyr followed him, knowing that the Lannisters were already on the green; they waited for no one.  Petyr turned to Varys and asked, “Did Stannis say what information he had?”  

Varys drove the cart down the path to the green and answered, “He did not.  Though, I imagine he discovered the name attached to the number she keeps calling.”  

Stannis was tasked with watching Margaery Tyrell and reporting back to Petyr.  Apparently, Margaery was leading a rather dull life.  At least that’s what most people would assume.  She spent her time with her brother and his husband, visiting her senile grandmother, and calling someone.  Stannis had brought Petyr the phone records, noting the same number appearing multiple times per day.  Stannis then thought that would be enough information for Petyr to speak on his behalf.  Petyr reminded him that half-assed jobs were not acceptable.  

“One can only hope.”  Petyr sighed to Varys.  

Varys chuckled beside him, “I still don’t understand how someone who makes an entire career of detective work and investigation could assume that not finding the name to the number was acceptable.”  

“Either he’s stupid, which he is.  Or he found the number and doesn’t want to tell me for some reason, which would also make him stupid.”  Petyr rolled his eyes as they drove.  

Varys chuckled again before pulling off to the side, “I couldn’t agree more.”  

“Why are we stopping here?”  Petyr looked around, finding they were all alone.  

“Because the Lannisters are just ahead and I wanted to pull over to give you the opportunity to put this on your face without anyone noticing.”  Varys held out a small pocket-sized tube of sunscreen.  

“Really?”  Petyr looked back at him skeptically.  

Varys nodded his head, “Yes.  Last time, you burned your nose and you were peeling the next day.”  There as a brief pause and then Varys pushed the tube into Petyr’s hand, “There’s no shame in wanting to protect your skin.”  

Petyr sighed and squirted a small amount into his hand, rubbing it on his forehead and nose and then tossing the tube back to Varys, who was grinning triumphantly.  “Can we go now?”  

The cart rolled on and Petyr pulled out his phone, texting Stannis,  _ Send me the name now.  Or deal’s off.   _

Petyr was tired of this back and forth, either Stannis had the information or not.  A loud cheering sound resounded ahead, and Petyr looked up to see the Lannister men holding their drinks up, golf clubs over their shoulders, grinning as he approached.  Petyr plastered a large grin on his face; it was showtime.  

“Baelish!”  Jaime exclaimed, “Grab a club!”  

Varys was already ahead of him, handing him one.  For a big man, he could definitely move fast.  Petyr accepted it, without making eye contact, as he strode towards the head of the Lannister crime family, exuding all the confidence of Littlefinger.  Jaime was not alone, bringing his cousin Kevan, and both his sons Joffery and Tommen.  Tommen was getting tall, looking a lot older than fourteen, but he was still a bit young to be attending meetings.  Petyr cocked an eyebrow at Tommen as he addressed Jaime, “I see your youngest is taking part of the family business…”  Petyr attempted familiarity with Kevan when he smiled and inquired on his son, “And no Lancel?”  

Kevan looked up at Petyr and answered proudly, “Lancel is in the hospital with his wife.  I tried to take him with us, but people felt he should be there for the birth.”  

Jaime nodded his head, “If not for the woman, then for the child.”  There was a brief moment of silence and then Jaime gave a toothy grin as he boasted, “And Tommen, well, we feel we waited too long with Joffery and we don’t want the same mistakes.”  

Joffery scowled back at Jaime and put his sunglasses on, reaching for a beer out of their cart.  Petyr smirked at the kid’s poorly contained pout.  Apparently, Joffery was not impressing Mommy and Daddy.  Poor Tommen looked lost, constantly shifting himself, trying to find a stance that felt comfortable.  Varys stood next to the boy quietly and his presence appeared to have a calming affect on the little Lannister, though Petyr couldn’t understand why.  Someone from a different family should not be able to calm your nerves.  They should, if anything, set them off.  Tommen truly was too innocent to understand that.  For as dimwitted as Joffery was, he, at least, understood as he often scowled at Varys from behind his sunglasses.    

“Where’s Tyrion?”  Petyr decided to change the subject.  It was customary to bring right hands, Varys was present after all.  

Kevan chuckled and hid his mouth behind his drink.  Joffery coughed a laugh as he looked down at the ground and Tommen looked even more uncomfortable, if that was possible.  Petyr looked back at Jaime, who offered a toothy grin, “Oh, he’s around.  He shouldn’t be long now.”  

Petyr smiled back, and offered a curious look.  All of a sudden, a high pitched squeal came out from behind a set of bushes behind the Lannister golf cart.  All the Lannisters, save for Tommen, burst out laughing, some almost spitting their drinks out.  Petyr joined in their laughter, as he watched a tanned brunette stumble out of the bushes, clothing disheveled and hair snarled.  Tyrion appeared behind her, buttoning his pants and smiling, “Next hole?”  

Everyone erupted in laughter again as Tyrion strode past them with a proud grin on his face.  He made for the golf cart, accepting a glass from Kevan.  Tyrion took a quick sip and then grinned at Petyr, “Oh good, you’re here.  Maybe we can get down to business now, instead of me having to fuck every woman Jaime sees, so he won’t.”  

Jaime chuckled down at him, “Thanks for having my back.”  

Petyr tried not to roll his eyes.  Jaime would no more climb on a random girl than Petyr himself would.  Both men found their needs satiated only by their wives, the difference was that Jaime felt he had to put on a front, play the womanizer he wasn’t.  Jaime raised his voice to the girl scurrying back to her spot by the hole, “Hey Sweetheart, bend over for Baelish.”  

The brunette walked over to Petyr, a little uncertain.  She looked back at Jaime who smiled wide and nodded his head.  She looked back over her shoulder at Petyr who plastered a reassuring smile on his face.  The woman slowly bent over, her ass spilling out of the bottom of her daisy-duke shorts.  He knew he would have to give some sort of response, and a chauvinistic one, specifically.  He chose to deflect, “Nice.  Varys, give her our card.”  He spoke at the bare thighs and scantily clad ass in front of him, “If you are ever looking for work, I bet I pay more than you make here.”  

Jaime did not look amused, so Petyr continued, looking at Tyrion, “Of course, you’re still going to have to fuck Lannisters, but at least you’ll be compensated better for the …  _ hardship.” _

The men erupted in laughter again, even Varys.  Petyr had to remind himself to join in the nonsense as he listened to Jaime speak to the girl, still bent over, “If you’re planning to spend your day like that, I think Kevan was next.”  

Tommen snuck a swig from the bottle of bourbon that Varys brought.  Petyr decided not to say anything, the poor kid probably needed it. It was not that he was too young to appreciate a woman on display, but he was probably used to it in the privacy of his bedroom, a couple of clicks away--not in real life, with a crowd.  Kevan flashed the girl a wad of cash and she smiled and nodded.  Petyr noticed how quickly her nervous expression changed at the promise of more money.  Perhaps she would work well in one of his establishments.  He found himself hoping she would call Varys, her hunger for money would only serve to make him a lot of it.              

Petyr’s phone buzzed and he stole a quick glance at the message from Sansa,  _ Arya stopped by today with a gift for the baby.   _

Jaime poured himself another drink and spoke, “Well, I already waited on this little shit,” he looked affectionately at Tyrion.  “I’m not waiting all day while she works her way down the line.”  

_ Nice save,  _ Petyr thought.  He knew Jaime had no interest in “going down the line” til it got to him.  Petyr had no interest in playing chicken with him either.  Neither of them would fuck golf-course eye candy and they both knew it.  This game was irritating.  Petyr typed back to Sansa quickly,  _ Anything good? _

Jaime got in a cart and motioned for Joffery to drive.  At Jaime’s request, Petyr joined him, and waved Varys off to their cart.  Tyrion and Tommen hopped in with Varys and Jaime chuckled, “There, let them iron out business details, and let Tommen listen and learn.”  

From a distance, Petyr heard Tyrion exclaim, “You brought Pappy!”  

Petyr smiled, knowing Tyrion was referring to the bottle of bourbon that Varys brought.  With Tyrion and Varys handling the real estate deal, Petyr was unsure of what to say to Jaime.  He wouldn’t speak on Stannis’ behalf without a name.    

Jaime looked back at the other cart and leaned into Petyr, “I’ve been meaning to ask, your man, is he gay?”  

Petyr cocked an eyebrow at the question.  That was something he had been wondering for years, but it never seemed important enough to explore.  He shrugged, “I’d have to care to find out.”  

Jaime laughed, comparing Petyr’s situation to his own, “I guess it is different when your right hand is not your blood.”  

Petyr shrugged, not sure where this was going.  Jaime smiled and continued, “So Margaery is back.”  

Petyr instantly felt himself sit straighter in attention.  He tried to downplay it, “And?”  

“Our wives don’t like her.”  Jaime spoke plainly.  

It was true, Sansa did not like Margaery.  Women talked.  And wives spoke to their husbands.  It made sense that Jaime would realize this.  Sansa’s display at fashion week probably would have been enough proof of her feelings even if she hadn’t grown an attachment to Cersei, however tentative it was.  

Jaime continued as Petyr listened, “From what I gather, your wife hates her on your behalf, for that awful trick she played on you.”  

Petyr nodded.  He couldn’t think of any other reason Sansa would have to hate the woman.  Margaery was insensitive at fashion week but everyone’s emotions were high then.  The thought was fleeting, but it appeared nonetheless, he wondered if Sansa hated Margaery because he fucked her.  

He quickly dismissed the thought as it was so long ago and before Sansa had even given him the time of day.  And he did not know Sansa to be jealous.  There was that one time back when they were dating that he had taken her shopping and she got upset over a sales associate.  There had been nothing since, not over the working girls that surrounded him or the women that tried to cozy up to him in his clubs whenever he passed by.   No, Sansa had to hate Margaery for the fool she made of Petyr.  

“And we know why my wife hates her,”  Jaime reached forward and smacked Joffery on the back of his head.  The cart swerved as Joffery winced while driving.  Jaime spoke to him, “Don’t we, son?”

Petyr looked between the two men, allowing his confusion to play across his face.  His phone buzzed and he glanced down quickly to read,  _ Joffery Lannister. _

What?  Why would Sansa message him that?  He stared back at Jaime, trying not to reveal his quick phone check.  Jaime offered a toothy grin as he explained, “My son takes after his dad, a regular Casanova.”  

Petyr listened to Jaime as he slowly put two and two together.  Sansa was not the only person he was texting, he had forgotten.  Stannis had finally replied and, apparently, Margaery was calling Joffery Lannister.  He answered Jaime rhetorically, “He’s fucking her?”

Jaime belted out an unrestrained laugh as he choked out, “ _ She  _ fucked  _ him _ , is more like it.”  He smacked at Joffery playfully as he asked, “Was it just the once, or did you have her begging for more?”  

Joffery glared at him over his shoulder, refusing to respond.  The message on Petyr’s phone confirmed that they were calling and talking to each other since she got back, multiple times per day.  No, it could not have just been the once, it had to be current and ongoing, Petyr reasoned. 

Jaime turned back to Petyr, “Of course, it was years ago, but Cersei is protective of her children.  She’ll hate any woman her boy bangs, but not like this.”  Jaime reached forward and messed up Joffery’s hair as he laughed, “She popped his cherry!”  

“Stop it!”  Joffery growled back over his shoulder.  

Jaime’s smile was smug as he turned to Petyr, “He’s such a sensitive boy.”  

Petyr chuckled.  Jaime looked back at Joffery, “Oh come on, I’m only teasing you because I’m proud.  Fifteen years old and his first fuck is an eighteen year old  _ Tyrell _ no less.  It takes balls, son.”  

Petyr nodded his head in agreement.  It did take balls--and stupidity.  No wonder Cersei hated Margaery with such passion.  Joffery rolled his eyes, “That was years ago, Dad.”  

Jaime grinned, “We all had to start somewhere.”  Then he chuckled, “I’m amazed you were able to keep it from Mom for as long as you did.”  Jaime turned his attention to Petyr, “Cersei only found out when Margaery went overseas, not long after that gala.”  

Petyr watched the realization hit Jaime as his grin widened and he exclaimed, “Joffery, you and Mr. Baelish have more in common than you might realize.  It appears as though you’ve both joined the “Tap-A-Tyrell” club.  It’s good to know Margaery services a wide age range.”  

Petyr stifled his internal groan as he plastered amusement on his face.  He did not miss the look of disdain radiating from Joffery.  Judging by the boy’s defensiveness and the fact that he and Margaery were in constant communication, Petyr could only assume they were rekindling something that had clearly taken a more than two year break.  No man wanted to think about another man fucking his woman, and for a sliver of a second, Petyr actually felt sorry for the young heir to the Lannister clan.  And then Petyr remembered he didn’t care.  

“I feel like I am missing something.”  Petyr refocused the conversation, “I don’t understand how our wive’s mutual distaste for Margaery, however warranted, factors into our day.”  

Jaime slouched back against the seat of the cart, sighing, “Because Baelish, you know how women are.  Poking and prodding.  Pushing until they get someone killed.”  

Petyr cocked his eyebrow in skepticism, “Cersei wants Margaery killed?”  

Joffery’s shoulders stiffened as he pulled to a stop at the next tee.  If Jaime noticed, he did not acknowledge as he replied, “Of course she does.  But that doesn’t mean anything--I am not interested in a war with the Tyrells.”

“You’re not?”  Petyr laughed.  

Jaime stepped out of the cart and watched the rest of their party exit the cart behind them as he answered, “No, Tyrion said it’d be bad for business right now.”  

Petyr grinned, the brother with the brains was not wrong.  “So then, what are you looking to accomplish?” 

Jaime pulled a club out of his bag and smiled at the pretty girl parked by the tee.  Whenever Jaime called a meeting at the golf-course he always paid extra for the “Lannister Treatment,” which meant that the course was shut down to all but Jaime and his special guests, and beautiful women were littered throughout at all the tees and holes, offering to freshen up drinks and for a big tip, they’d agree to all sorts of things.  If you got one that wouldn’t, you could just drive a short distance to the next checkpoint and try that one.  Petyr laughed inside at how hard Jaime worked to project the persona he wanted.   

Petyr looked down at his phone and read Sansa’s response from a little while ago,  _ A onesie.   _

_ A what? _  Petyr typed back quickly.  He tapped the word  _ onesie _ twice, bringing up an internet search that yielded pages of small baby clothes.  He felt excitement bubble in his stomach as he fought to keep his face from showing it.

Jaime leaned towards the girl, holding his cigar out for her to light as he spoke, “Well Baelish, I was hoping you’d help me think of something.”  

Petyr put his hand on his chest in mock-shock, “Me?”  

“Yes, your wheels are always turning.  And you can appreciate the delicacy of the situation.  The hard balance between keeping your wife happy and avoiding a war.”  Jaime was attempting to stroke Petyr’s ego.  

Petyr saw the opportunity to bring Stannis into play, and waited until Joffery was out of earshot.  If he was fucking Margaery, Petyr would not trust him with any information that would affect the Tyrells.  “Well, come to think of it, I may know someone who can help: Stannis.”  

Jaime’s smile turned into a grimace before he caught himself.  It was no secret how much Jaime hated all things Baratheon.  As far as Petyr knew, it was only Robert, long dead, with the intimate knowledge of Cersei.  Yet somehow a history long past had colored Jaime’s view of the past twenty years.  “Stannis is too stupid to be useful.”  

Petyr smirked, knowing the truth of it.  Three weeks to offer any useful information was pathetic.  “Thankfully, his title more than makes up for his idiocy.”  

Tyrion approached, “The look on my brother’s face tells me we are talking about one of two things.  Either we’re all out of provisions,”  Tyrion lifted a full bottle of scotch out of the Lannister cart, “Or someone said Baratheon.”  

Petyr chuckled, genuinely.  He appreciated how perceptive the little man was and nodded his agreement.  Petyr checked to see that Joffery was off talking to Tommen when Tyrion asked, “So which is it?  The princess or the pig?”  

Jaime smirked at his brother’s jab, “The pig.”  

“What about him?  Want more money?”  Tyrion took a swig of his drink and rubbed his eyes behind his sunglasses.  

Petyr popped a mint in his mouth and smiled, “Of course he does.”  

“Did you pay?” Jaime asked as he took a swing with the golf club.  

“Yes,” Petyr lied.  “But he had to work for it.”  Petyr did not have to think for long about whether or not to tell Jaime about his son.  If it concerned his son, Petyr would want to know.  Petyr didn’t owe the Lannister anything, but sharing this information would also serve their working relationship.  The more truths Petyr told now, the more likely he would be believed whenever he felt the need to manipulate later.  “I had him track Margaery’s phone calls.”  

Tyrion and Jaime both looked up, their interest peaked.  Petyr watched to make sure that Joffery wasn’t approaching when he heard Jaime ask, “Anything interesting?”  

Petyr held up his finger and said, “One number, multiple times a day.”  

“The suspense is killing me, Baelish.”  Tyrion slid his sunglasses down to the bridge of his nose as he looked back.  

Varys had quietly approached and Petyr gestured with his head for Varys to keep Joffery occupied.  There were times that Petyr truly appreciated how well Varys knew him and his gestures.  Tommen was reaching down into the cooler, also out of earshot, when Petyr leaned in toward Jaime and Tyrion, and whispered, “Your oldest, Joffery.”  

There was a heavy silence as Jaime and Tyrion registered what Petyr had said.  Suddenly, Jaime let out a booming laugh, “So he’s gone back for seconds, has he?”

Tyrion chuckled, “He’s certainly quiet about it.”  

Jaime smirked, “He doesn’t want to have to face his mother’s wrath.”  He turned back to Petyr, “Now I know why you’ve been so dodgy about the whole thing.  You don’t want to talk in front of him.”  

Petyr snickered, “Young men get sentimental, think they have to spill all their secrets when they spill--”  Petyr coughed for dramatic effect, “ _ themselves. _ ” 

“Too right!”  Jaime laughed and Tyrion hung his head appearing to know the truth to that as well.  

Petyr felt his phone vibrate,  _ It’s baby clothes.  Guess what it has on it.   _

Petyr typed back,  _ What? _

Jaime looked at Petyr suspiciously, “Wheeling and dealing over there?”  

“Just keeping the missus happy,” Petyr held up his phone so that they could read their last two replies.  Jaime waved him off trying to appear uninterested, but Petyr noticed Tyrion’s eyes scanning the screen quickly.  

Jaime chuckled, “They do that when they’re pregnant, blow your damn phone up.  Cersei was a nightmare whenever I knocked her up.”  

“Such a nightmare.”  Tyrion agreed, too fervently.  

Jaime scowled at him, “I’ll never understand why after twenty years, your panties are still in a twist over her.”  

Tyrion smiled sardonically as he replied, “Because she’s a total Yoko.”  

“Oh, fuck you.”  Jaime rolled his eyes and took a swig of his drink.  

“No, you asked.”  Tyrion took a step forward and started pointing his finger, “We had a good thing going, and then she shows up and tames you with her cunt.”  

Both brothers stared back at each other for an uncomfortable length of time as Petyr checked his phone and read,  _ It says, “Hooters.”   _ He had to stifle a laugh at Sansa’s message as he knew his current atmosphere would not allow his humor.  

Finally, Jaime forced a smile as he spoke, “Well, little brother, perhaps if you learned to  _ handle _ me the way she does…”  

Tyrion stared back, his eyes showed the internal struggle of whether or not to go along with the joke or stand his ground.  Finally, he broke out into a toothy grin and replied, “Maybe she’ll teach me sometime.”  

“She’d kill you first.”  Jaime laughed as if he was joking, but Petyr noticed the proud way his chest puffed out and explained, “Cersei won’t have anyone but me.”

Petyr quickly typed,  _ You told her it was inappropriate? _

“Ah yes, the fairytale romance.”  Tyrion mumbled and rolled his eyes before quickly clearing his throat and adding, “So just to sum up, whatever Tyrell business we have needs to stay with the grown ups while my nephew has a second helping of the Peace-Corps Whore.”

Jaime nodded, smiling, as Petyr glanced at Sansa’s reply,  _ She said it wasn’t because it’s unisex. _

Jaime sighed as he asked, “How bad does Stannis want a pay raise?”  

Petyr thought of the conversation they had out on the deserted road, “From what I gather, he's willing to do pretty much anything, even sell out his brother.”  

Tyrion rubbed his chin, “New surgery or treatment for Shireen?”  

Jaime lifted his sunglasses and looked down at his brother, “You know her name?”  

“I’m more than just my good looks.”  Tyrion waggled his eyebrows back at his brother.  

Jaime laughed again and then refocused, “If he’s willing to sell out his brother, maybe he’d go so far as to bust him?  Put that badge to use?”  

Petyr did not try to hide the surprise he felt at the bold play Jaime was making, “Arrest?  Is that really how we do things?”  

Tyrion rubbed his forehead and opened his mouth, about to speak, before Jaime answered, “No, it’s not.  But Stannis is not one of us.  And besides, I like the idea of one Baratheon playing bottoms in prison before he’s shanked to death.  And I especially like the idea of the other Baratheon being the one responsible for it.”  

Petyr cringed at the depths to which Jaime loathed the Baratheon bloodline.  He wondered if there was more to it than just their affiliation with Robert.  For anyone else, Petyr would know that there had to be more.  With Jaime though, it could truly have just been their unavoidable genetic link to a man who fucked Cersei decades ago.    

Petyr let his mind wander to the things he would do if he learned of a man that knew his wife intimately.  It would be naive to think that Sansa had only ever slept with him and the Hound, but he didn’t know who the others were.  If he did, he would hunt them down to rid the world of any man who knew her secret sounds.   Those were his and his alone.  But would he go after their relations too, as Jaime was?  Petyr wondered if perhaps Jaime was going a bit mad.  He wondered if after twenty years together, his passion for Sansa would drive him mad as well.  He knew that he could easily be driven to the point of lunacy, though it was never when they were together, only when he was kept from her.        

“How will this appeal to our wives again?”  Petyr asked, recalling how Jaime had started this conversation.  

Jaime looked back at Petyr and laughed, “I don’t know.  Toying with the Baratheons took precedence.”  He turned to Tyrion, “How can we spin this?”  

Petyr felt his phone buzz,  _ How’s your nose?  Varys has sunscreen. _

Sansa’s concern was touching, considering his needs while they were apart, even willing to acknowledge Varys as possibly helpful.  Perhaps the baby was softening her?  Petyr typed back,  _ I’m okay.  I miss you.   _

Tyrion rubbed his chin as he thought, before answering, “Well, being arrested would be an embarrassment to any family.  Tell Cersei that killing would start a war, but humiliating Margaery would be both pleasurable and consequence free, the blame would fall on Stannis for being dumb enough to actually arrest Renly.”  

“Brilliant!”  Jaime reached over and mussed up Tyrion’s hair, “I knew I could count on you to twist things to my favor.”

Petyr considered what consequences that would have for Stannis and his family.  Normally, he would not give it a second thought, though now with an apple-sized baby on the way, Petyr found himself turning the idea over in his head.  Perhaps the baby was softening  _ him _ .  

Would being related to Renly be enough to save Stannis the storm of vengeful Tyrells?  More than that, what about Renly?  The man was not built for prison, what secrets would he leak for protection?  Petyr cursed himself for underestimating Jaime’s willingness to go out of his way to spurn a Baratheon.  

Just then, Joffery let out a loud laugh and hollered, “Did you fall in?”  

Petyr looked over to the subject of Joffery’s taunt.  Kevan was slowly making his way up the hill, looking exhausted, though Petyr was not sure it was from the walk.  Jaime clapped his hands dramatically and Tyrion whistled.  Tommen took another uncomfortable swig from the beer he had taken.  There was a slight shake to his arm and Petyr motioned to Varys to intercede, someone needed to slow that boy down.  

Petyr’s phone buzzed in his pocket,  _ Snuggle and watch a movie later?   _

She never had to ask, it would always be yes.  He bit back a smile as he responded,  _ Of course. _  He had just hit the send button when the phone vibrated in his hand, repeatedly.  He was getting a call--from  _ Rickon. _

Petyr held up his phone to Jaime and said, “I need to take this, it’s family.”  

He turned his back on the crowd and took a couple of steps away as he accepted the call and put the phone to his ear, “Rickon?”  

The youngest Stark’s voice sounded nervous as he responded, “Petyr--hey.  I need a favor--a big one...”  


	18. Cocoa Butter Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She brought his head back to her chest and wrapped one arm around him, reaching her hand up to his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got so excited to post, I forgot to leave a note! Happy Holidays Everyone! I'm so happy this fluffy chapter coincided with the holidays, I feel like it's a perfect fit :-)

Petyr slowly blinked his eyes open, cursing the light that filtered in from the sides of the curtains and poured out of the attached bathroom.  Sansa had a habit of leaving the light on and door open now that she was up multiple times a night to use the bathroom.  She also had a habit of standing at the window and looking at the moon after she was done.  He would catch her at times and pull her back to bed, making love to her until she was able to fall asleep again.  

Petyr sighed at how her night time habits negated the effectiveness of the black-out curtains he purchased.  He rolled over, throwing an arm around Sansa’s warm body next to him, and pushed his face into her hair.  He inhaled her scent, noticing something was different.  

She did not smell like her normal clean rain lotion.  The smell was sweeter, warmer, softer.  He did not recognize it and wasn’t sure how he felt about it.  He sniffed her hair again, and caught a slight whiff of the new scent, though as he pulled away and smelled down her chest, it got stronger.  

She was naked from the night before and he was grateful he wouldn’t wake her by tugging at her clothes.  The smell appeared to be originating from her stomach.  Cocoa butter.  Of course.  He had read that cocoa butter helped prevent and lessen stretch marks.  Did she have one?  Petyr pulled the blankets back further and inspected her belly, noting that it was blemish free.  He smiled at how she cared for her body, keeping it looking it’s best.  He wouldn’t have cared about stretch marks, but she didn’t know that, and she was clearly taking no chances.

He wondered what prompted her to start putting it on.  As far as he could tell, she wasn’t showing.  At sixteen weeks, a lot of women looked undeniably pregnant, being that the baby was the size of an avocado.  But according to various internet searches, women on their first baby usually took longer to show, particularly if they were very physically fit.  Petyr remembered Sansa’s bout with diet and fitness before they knew she was pregnant.  It made sense that Sansa didn’t look as pregnant as she truly was.  As he stared down at her, she shifted and turned onto her side, and Petyr suddenly saw it.  His eyes widened at the modest bulge underneath her belly button.  He had not seen or felt it, not even during either of their intimate encounters the night before.  It was as if it had grown mere hours ago.  

Transfixed by the bump, he found his palm raising to cup it.  There was a firmness to it that comforted him.  His child was in there, growing healthy and strong.  Before he knew it, he was lowering his head, placing soft kisses to it.  It was during one of these soft kisses that he heard Sansa’s voice whisper, “Surreal, isn’t it?”  

Petyr looked up from his spot on her stomach and smiled back at her, “It’s perfect.”  

Sansa’s heavy lidded eyes matched her smile as she yawned, “I noticed it last night while you were sleeping.”  

“And then immediately slathered your belly in cocoa butter?”  Petyr grinned as he teased her.  

She reached down and ruffled his hair as she laughed, “Shut up.”

Petyr placed more kisses on her belly and caressed his hand over it as he asked, “Can you feel it yet?”  

Sansa shook her head, “No.  At least, I don’t think so.  Everything says that it will feel like little flutters, and that right now it is probably just gas.”  

Petyr sighed, “Tell me when you do.”  

“You won’t be able to.  Dr. Luwin said that I would feel it before you would be able to feel it from the outside.”  Sansa reasoned as she looked down at him.  

“I don’t care.”  Petyr climbed up over her, careful not to press himself to her bump, as he kissed her lips.  When he pulled away, he added, “I want to know what you feel.”  

Sansa playfully rolled her eyes at him, “Try as you might, you can not have this baby for me.”

Petyr reached his hand down and stroked her bump as he spoke, “I am capable of many things, you know.”

“Not this,” She laughed and gestured to her stomach.  Her phone vibrated on the night stand beside her and Petyr watched her reach over and check it, still wearing the smile he gave her.  

“Who is it?”  Petyr asked reflexively as he always did each time she got a call or message.  He couldn’t help his curiosity.  Was it business or family?  Was it a Stark or Lannister?  Perhaps a Tyrell?

It was early enough in the day that it couldn’t be any of the Stark siblings, which was a good thing because Petyr did not want to face Sansa’s wrath once she found out about Petyr’s conversation with Rickon.  He closed his eyes trying to shake the visual of her irritated brow and pursed lips.  He told himself that once she cooled down, she would understand.  He wouldn’t kid himself to believe she might ever go so far as to thank him but at least she would understand.

Sansa kissed him, seemingly unaware of his momentary decline in mood.  She sighed into his mouth, “Loras and Renly.”  

“Oh?”  Petyr cocked an eyebrow playfully, “And what do they want with my wife at this hour?”  

Sansa grinned and rubbed his goatee with her thumb, “To invite me to brunch.”  

“Brunch?”  Petyr didn’t remember that code, “What does ‘brunch’ mean again?”

“Brunch means brunch, Petyr.”  Sansa sighed at him and shook her head.  “Try to keep up.”

“Try to keep up?”  Petyr flashed her some dimples, “Really?  Try to keep up?”  

Sansa giggled back at him, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for her, and tickling her ribs.  She laughed and flailed her limbs around trying to stop him, but it was no use.  His young wife was quite strong, but he was stronger.  He felt his arms flex as he fought to contain her kicks and jabs, the entire time careful not to hit or bump her stomach.  

Petyr stopped when he noticed her having difficulty catching her breath.  He pulled her against his chest and kissed the top of her head as he asked, “So, are you going to go to brunch?”  

He felt her shake her head no against him, “I have shopping with Cersei today.”  

Petyr bit back a sigh.  He did not like how close to Cersei she was, but knew that she was treading cautiously.  He could not fault her for taking whatever companionship she could, even from a different family.  Petyr considered his own respect for Tyrion and felt that the situation had to be similar.  Thinking of Tyrion reminded Petyr of his own plans for the day.  He kissed the top of her head again, and his voice became more stern as he said, “I have to start getting ready.  I have a meeting with Varys today.”  

“Oh?”  Sansa picked up her head and searched his face, no doubt finding the sudden seriousness in it, “What’s going on, Petyr?”  

He had known from the moment Jaime spoke on the golf course that he would have to prepare her for an ugly eventuality.  He had not thought of exactly how to word it, “I know you are fond of Renly.”  

Sansa squinted, “And?”

“Remember how I told you Jaime wants Stannis to bust Renly?”  Petyr had hoped that she would think of this on her own.  In fairness, the rounded belly he kept caressing had proven a most beautiful distraction to both of them.  

“Yes,”  Sansa nodded.  She smiled, “And Jaime’s crazy.  Low level muscle gets arrested.  Not family members.”  

Petyr nodded in agreement as he continued, “That’s because ‘muscle’ can withstand prison.”  He paused as he saw realization hit her.  

“Renly would rat.”  Sansa looked down in her lap as she acknowledged the truth of it.  

She brought her head up quickly, a smile spreading across her face, “He’s got nothing on us!”  He was touched at how quickly she prioritized thoughts of how it affected them over whatever she felt or the Tyrell-by-marriage.    

Petyr held her hand and kissed the back of it before he spoke, “If Jaime succeeds in getting Stannis to arrest his brother, Renly’s going to have to be executed to keep him quiet.”  

Sansa looked back at him.  She didn’t speak, but he knew her wheels were turning trying to think of a way around it.  He knew that Sansa understood the business, and was willing to do the things that needed to be done.  But he also knew that Sansa didn’t hate Renly enough to welcome his death.  Petyr continued, “If Renly is killed, the Tyrells will be looking for who to blame.”  

“Yes…”  Sansa was following.  

Petyr rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles and mindlessly played with her ring, “If we aren’t involved in the business deal, we’ll look too clean.”

Sansa nodded her head, “Too clean is dirty.”  

Petyr smiled wryly at her.  “Exactly.  It’s going to have to be a big, three family deal to avoid suspicion.”  

Sansa reached up and cupped Petyr’s cheek with her other hand, “I don’t like this.”  

Petyr closed his eyes and held her hand to his cheek, “I know.”  

“I like it better when we step back and let them hurt each other.  Besides, he’s done nothing wrong.”  Sansa spoke with conviction.  

Petyr opened his eyes and stared back into her sparkling sapphires, “This time, stepping in is stepping back.”  He turned his head and kissed her palm to ease what he said next, “And, he knew who he was marrying, the life he was agreeing to.”  

There was silence as she let go of his face and stared back at him.  He hoped his bluntness would get the point across, though he had no wish to hurt her with it.  He was about to apologize when she spoke first.  Her voice hardened, “Do what you must.”  

Petyr felt the sting of her words.  Unable to stand the loss of contact, he leaned in as he reached down, and ran his palm over her belly.  She stared back at him, unmoved by his touch.  He closed his eyes and set his forehead against hers as he begged, “Don’t be upset with me.”  

She fumed, though he found it encouraging that she did not pull away from him.  He rubbed the bump as he spoke, “I would do anything to keep you two safe.  I have no limits, Sansa.   _None_.”  

Slowly, her hand slid over his and held him there.  Petyr felt excitement bubble inside at her gesture.  Her voice was softer as she answered, “I know.”  She offered a long drawn out sigh before continuing, “That’s why we have this.”  She tightened her grip over his on her belly.  

Petyr felt himself soothed by her growing warmth.  She smiled as she said, “Your devotion more than qualifies you to do this to me.”  

He chuckled and picked up his head from hers, finally feeling himself relax as he looked back at her, “Oh?  And you played no part in it?”  

She grinned playfully, “Maybe a little one.”  

Petyr kissed her, hooking her hair behind her ears, and sighing into her new smell.  As they pulled away, Sansa caught his face and looked seriously at him, “I have sympathy for Renly, but I have no loyalty to him.”  Petyr held her gaze, appreciating her strength and honesty with him.

She then dropped her head, smiling down at her stomach, “But I do to our family.”  She rubbed the bump, talking to it, “Don’t worry Little One, Daddy always takes care of us.”  

Petyr’s jaw dropped in surprise, “ _Daddy_?”

Sansa chuckled, “Dad?  Father?   _Papa_?  Pick whatever suits you, because you’re going to be called it for the rest of your life.”  

Petyr reached for her and crushed her to him, “I like Daddy.”  

Sansa grinned into his chest, “I bet you do.”  

“Sansa!”  Petyr feigned shock, “You’re a mother now.”  

She laughed into him and he ran his hand over her hair.  His phone chimed and he swore under his breath, “It’s a reminder to meet with Varys.”  

“Since when has Varys been so important?”  Sansa teased as she kissed his chest.  

Petyr pulled her face up to look at him as he answered, “Because Tyrion was supposed to meet with Stannis to present Jaime’s offer.  Tyrion and Varys met last night to discuss our real estate prospects.  Varys dug for info, as he is so good at doing, and I’m meeting with him to receive that report.  If Tyrion failed at convincing Stannis, we may not have to take such drastic measures.”

Sansa closed in on him, pressing a kiss to his lips.  It was slow, deliberate, and _approving._  Petyr’s heart beat boldly at her nonverbal communication long after it ended.  Not wanting to leave, he reluctantly stood up and grabbed his phone.  She smiled at him as he made for the bathroom.    

He left the door open behind him as he relieved himself, not feeling an ounce of modesty.  Giving himself a shake, he turned around and reached into the shower, twisting the knob for hot water.  He checked his phone for any more notifications as he waited for the water to reach the right temperature.  The low battery light flashed at him and he cursed himself for not remembering to plug it in before he fell asleep the night before.  

Petyr left the shower on as he turned and walked back for the bedroom.  His bare feet on the tile floor were silent as he approached the door.  He caught sight of Sansa’s feet moving at the bottom of the bed and wondered what she was doing.  Where his quiet gait was unintentional at first, it quickly became purposeful as he neared the door.  He saw more and more of her legs, bending and flexing, writhing on the bed.  He held his breath, not making a sound, as he peered around the door at his wife in bed, touching herself.  

He instantly felt a tingle and twitch in his dick as he scanned the length of her.  Her eyes were shut tight as sweat formed on her brow.  Her back arched up and her taut nipples begged to be sucked and plucked.  Petyr reached down with his free hand and gave himself a silent tug to ease the pressure of the sudden blood rush.  

She had brought both hands down, favoring neither, as she vigorously pet and rubbed between her legs.  Her heavy breathing and soft moans made him give himself another silent tug.  His mouth watered at the sight of her.  He wondered why she was doing this.  He was home, after all.  Did she not want him?  She seemed plenty interested the night before, when he had taken her twice.  Why not now?

He was slightly offended that she wasn’t including him, but felt more aroused than upset at the moment.  Suddenly, he remembered that his phone was in his other hand.  A particularly naughty thought crossed his mind as he hit the record button and raised the phone, watching her on his screen.  Wanting a closer view, he silently padded over to her.  Trying to decide the best angle, he crept towards the bottom of the bed.  Her legs spread slightly as one hand reached down further, pushing a finger inside her glossy pink opening.  The other hand scissored her nub and Petyr felt the tip of his cock throb at the sight.  

He zoomed in, trying to focus in the lighting, as he silently ran his hand over his shaft a couple of times, trying to keep his need at bay.  Sansa suddenly gasped and he looked up from his phone to see her looking back at him.  They both stilled, speechless and caught.  

She was the first to break the silence, “Were you recording me?”  

“You know I was.”  Petyr decided to own his actions confidently.  

She gave a toothy grin, “Well then, will you be including yourself in this video?”  

The screen on Petyr’s phone went black and he threw it on the bed, “Battery’s dead.”  He watched her release herself and reach for him.  He remembered feeling slighted, “I assumed you didn’t want a partner.  You did wait for me to leave the room before you started helping yourself.”

Sansa laughed and made a pretend pouty face, “Oh no, is Petyr feeling left out?”  

He fought a grin, trying to maintain the appearance of being put out.  She scooted forward on the bed, reaching for him as she cooed, “I always want you.”  

He smiled at her, “Were you thinking of me?”  

“Of course,” She leaned forward, hanging her legs over the end of the bed to either side of him and kissed his abs, “That time you fucked me in a fitting room.”  

“Which time?”  Petyr grinned proudly.  

She chuckled, “When we were shopping for Rickon’s graduation, and we dirtied some suits…”  

Petyr remembered that time fondly, but would not be distracted, “So you’d rather the memory to having me, _in the flesh_?”  

She rested her chin on him and smiled as she explained, “You had to go.  And I was horny.”  

“I would have made time for you.”  He ran a hand over her hair.  

She kissed his abs again, “I know.  But I’m horny all the time now.”  

“Are you?”  Petyr loved how responsive his wife was to his touch, always so willing.  She never turned him down, and often times initiated without provocation herself.  He knew pregnancy could increase a woman’s sexual desire, but he could not imagine Sansa’s getting any higher.  The idea that she might be any more aroused than normal excited him, “Tell me about that.”  

She nipped at his muscles, “I’m always wet and ready to fuck.”  He felt himself poke her chest as she leaned into him.  Her voice was sinful, “I change my underwear a couple times of day because I keep soaking through, thinking of all the naughty things we’ve done.”  

He grinned knowingly, as he often had to downplay his erections to get through work.  In the time they had been together, they had developed quite the sexy memory bank.  It was a joint account that he was known to draw on a time or two when he was alone and left without her.  Petyr groaned as she rubbed her breasts against his cock.  A small white bead smeared on her chest and glistened.  If she noticed, she didn’t care as she ran her teeth over his stomach, biting at his muscle definition.

She spoke again as his hands reached down and massaged her shoulders, “I have to touch myself to get through the day until I can have you at night.”  

Petyr hated the idea that she had to wait for him, “Don’t wait, come see me.”  He let go of her and lowered himself to his knees in front of her.  Petyr rested his head against her chest, speaking into her breast, “I don’t care what I’m doing, come to me.  I want to help.”  

He turned his head and covered one of her darkened nipples with his mouth as she ran her fingers through his hair and smiled, “You’re such a good helper.”  

His hand drop down and rub between her folds and she breathed, “You can bend me over your desk.”  Petyr pictured the many times he had done that and moved to her other breast.  He doubted that would be possible for a while, with her growing belly.    

She arched her back and continued, “Or you could spread me open for you in that comfy leather couch.”  

Petyr trailed kisses down her stomach, as he pictured her naked and waiting for him on the couch in his office.  He felt the heat from her sex warming his chin as he pleaded with her, “I mean it Sansa.  Come to me.”  

She bit her lip and nodded her head in agreement before she said, “If I do, will you pull my panties down and sit me in your lap?”

 _Fuck, yes._  He inhaled her musky scent mixed with the new lotion she used, and wanted nothing more than to rub himself all over her.  He gave his cock a firm squeeze before he covered her seam with his mouth.  She reflexively bucked into his lips and he smiled, gripping her thighs as he thought, **_I_ ** _do this for you._

She let loose a whimper as he circled her nub with his tongue.  It wasn’t long before she pleaded, “I don’t care where or how, just fuck me, Petyr.”  

He felt the throbbing pulse in his dick beg for relief as he heard her sounds of pleasure.  She stopped talking and simply moaned and panted as he pushed his fingers into her, accompanying his tongue.  Petyr felt proud of how speechless he’d rendered her, though he did miss the pictures she created for him.  He pushed his mouth into her, offering more pressure as he opened his eyes and looked up at her.  Her hair hung down around her face and her eyes were hooded as she stared down at him.  There was such craving in her expression as he pleasured her that he barely noticed her hand to the side, holding her phone.  

Petyr pulled away, grinning from ear to ear, “Are you recording me?”  

Sansa reached down and guided his face back to her as she smirked and repeated his words, “You know that I am.”  

Petyr groaned at her perfection as he flicked her nub, feeling self-satisfied when she trembled in response.  After a couple more licks, she tugged at his head and motioned for him to get up.  As he rose to his feet, Sansa dropped her phone and wrapped her fingers around his cock, gently tugging him towards her.  Her smile was flirtatious as she lifted her hips invitingly to him.  Petyr couldn’t resist any longer and placed himself at her entrance, feeling the soft wet skin tease his tip.  His eyes fluttered at the sensation as his body begged for more.  He felt a demanding need to cover as much of himself with her as humanly possible.

She sucked in air when he filled her to his base, unable to give her any more.  He felt pride well in his chest as he looked down at his beautiful, fertile wife, splayed out on the mattress for him.  After all this time together, she still responded so deliciously to how well they fit together.  

Petyr held her legs as he rolled his hips into her, his motion languid, as he savored the sensation of sliding back and forth over her slippery skin.  She breathed deeply and let shallow moans out as he kept a steady rhythm.  She was bawling the comforter in her fists at either side as she looked up at him, her eyes beseeching him for release.  It was then that Petyr noticed her phone, abandoned on the bed.  He flashed her a grin as he let go of one leg and reached for it.  She bit her lip through her smile as she focused her gaze on the phone pointed at her.  

“So beautiful,” Petyr told her as he continued rocking his hips into her and watched her both in real life and on the screen.  

She lowered her hand back to her folds as she grinned at him, “Is this what you were trying to see before?”  

Petyr’s mouth hung open as he watched her fingers sink into her lips, a glossy sheen forming on them.  She circled her nub before finding the most responsive spot to settle and start working back and forth in time with him.  Petyr watched his cock dance in and out of her through the screen and he grinned from ear to ear at the knowledge that he would get to replay this later.  

He felt his pressure building and noticed her fingers working herself faster.  Her back arched, and her tits tilted up for him to reach out and grab.  He wanted to.  Christ, did he want to.  But his hands were full and he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to record her orgasm.  In the jewelry store surveillance video, she had burrowed her face into his neck so he couldn’t see or hear her cum when he watched later.  He wasn’t going to miss it this time.

All of her muscles flexed as her body went rigid and her fingers rubbed feverishly while her insides clenched around him.  Petyr moved the phone to her face, caught in its little death.  Her eyes clamped shut, mouth hung open panting and crying out.  The view, coupled with the sensation of her tightening around him was enough to unconsciously raise his tempo and send him careening over his edge.  He dropped the phone beside them and grabbed her hip with his free hand as he pumped into her, deliberately deep.  He didn’t recognize his own voice as he sounded his pleasure and let himself collapse, carefully, on top of her to press his face into her chest.

Sansa moved to sit up, nudging him off of her.  Petyr sighed, knowing that the position was awkward, but simply just wanted to be close to her.  She pulled her legs back up on the bed and scooted up to the headboard and waved for him to follow.  Petyr wasted no time climbing up to her.  She brought his head back to her chest and wrapped one arm around him, reaching her hand up to his hair.  He knew she liked to run her fingers over his scalp, and he relished the affection of it.  He smiled into her chest, saying what he had been thinking before, “See?  It’s better when you let me help.”  

Sansa chuckled and kissed his forehead, neither confirming nor denying what he said.  Petyr let his fingers trail down her stomach and trace the outline of her bump as he spoke, “Do you need more lotion?”  

She rubbed at his hair, “It couldn’t hurt.”  She reached into the drawer to her nightstand, one handed and pulled the tube out.  She had started to let go of him to open it when Petyr growled playfully, “Don’t you dare.  Stay put.”  

“Oh really?”  She laughed at him.  

He kept her hand on his head, “It feels good.”  

Sanse chuckled and kissed his forehead as he opened the tube and squirted too much lotion on her belly.  She squirmed at the cold feeling on her skin and laughed, “How big do you think my belly is?”  

Petyr smiled into her chest as he rubbed the lotion into her skin, “I can use the extra to moisturize these.”  He reached up and rubbed some lotion into one of her breasts before returning to her belly.  He felt the rise and fall of her chest as he gently massaged the bump.  

Her voice was soft as she asked, “What are we going to name it?”  

“I suppose we should find out if it’s a boy or girl first.”  Petyr replied.  

She didn’t acknowledge, but instead continued in her train of thought, “Nothing exotic.  I hated my name growing up.  There were no ‘Sansa’ keychains or novelty license plates.  There were no cute necklaces or bags with my name on it.”  

Petyr dug out the extra lotion from her belly button, smiling at the way she squirmed at being tickled.  He thought about her words and concern started to take form in his brow, “If we personalize its back pack or other things, people will be able to spot the child quicker, easier.  Our friends are not our friends, Sansa.  We need to be careful.”

He didn’t want to upset her, but he needed her to understand.  This child would be the sole heir to the Baelish crime family, inheriting half the city some day.  Petyr knew all too well the leverage the child could be used for.  He and Sansa had to stay one step ahead of the world, keeping their baby safe from everyone.  

Petyr watched her hand come down over his again as she spoke to him through her words to their child, “We must listen to Daddy, he’s very smart.  He’ll always protect us.”  

There was no sarcasm in her voice, or humor.  The way she held his hand, told him she meant what she said.  He rubbed his face into her chest affectionately, wanting nothing more than to feel her soft skin and tickle her with his goatee.  After a moment, she said, “What if we name it a common name, but spell it differently?  Like your name.”  

Petyr groaned, “I hate my name.”  

“What?  Why?”  She asked as she ran her fingers through his hair.  

“Because, my mother was a junkie,” he answered, as if the reason was obvious.  After a pause wherein she did not demonstrate that she knew what he was getting at, Petyr continued, “I don’t know if she thought she was being clever or if she truly didn’t know how to spell the name.”  

Silence filled the air for longer than he felt comfortable with.  He was about say something to change the subject when he watched her hand lift off of his and catch him under his chin.  She tilted his head up to face her and she pressed their familiar kiss to his lips.  He let himself be guided by her, thankful for the distraction, as thoughts of his mother left him feeling a little weightless.  As Sansa ended the kiss, she held his face and stared back into his eyes.  The blue pools he fell into often offered only sympathy and apology.  He started to turn away, not wanting his wife’s pity when she held his face, not letting him leave, “ _Hey_.”  

Petyr looked back into her eyes, reluctantly.  Her voice hardened, quite the contrast from her soft eyes, as she said, “Fuck that bitch.”  

Petyr blinked back at her.  His fierce wife, protecting him from a woman he hadn’t known in the thirty-seven years of his life.  This time he found himself looking down at her belly and addressing their child, “Watch out for your Mum, she’s ruthless.”  

Sansa rolled her eyes and laughed.  Petyr caught her in a kiss.  When he pulled away, he whispered, “Thank you.”  

She didn’t say anything, only nodded before bringing his head back to her chest.  After she ran her fingers through his hair a few more times, she added, “I guess this is a pointless conversation anyway.  We’ll have to wait to pick a name since I don’t want to know the gender.”  

What?!  She didn’t?  How could she handle the suspense?  How would she plan?  Petyr appreciated the importance of planning.  Not wanting the moment they were sharing to end, he decided not to push the matter.  She chuckled under him, “I can feel your wheels spinning.  It’s killing you, isn’t it?”  

“What?”  Petyr feigned ignorance.

She laughed more, “That I want to be surprised.”  

Petyr smiled against her skin, “I can wait.”  

She smiled, “Barely.  But I have faith in you.  And just remember, our baby is as big as an avocado.  It’s growing so fast that we won’t have to wait too long to find out.”

He smiled at her, using their pregnancy app against him.  Twenty-four weeks was a long time for anyone, let alone Petyr.  He nodded his head in response to her, firm in his resolve to visit the subject again later.  After a little while, they pulled apart and Sansa said, “You’re probably very late for Varys.”  

Petyr chuckled, “I’m sure you feel terrible about that.”  

She shrugged, noncommittally, “It is rude.”

Petyr glanced back at her, surprised that she didn’t jump at the chance to put the man down.  Petyr held his phone in the air and walked over to the charger, “My phone was dead, it’s not my fault.”  

Sansa laughed and picked up her phone.  Petyr remembered the video, “You’re going to send that to me, right?”  

Sansa looked up from her phone, registering what he said as a devilish grin spread across her face, “Nope.”  

“What?”  Petyr asked in disbelief.  

Sansa held her phone tight to her, “If you wanted a sexy video. you should have taken one on your phone.”  

“The battery was dead!”  Petyr complained.  

Sansa bit her lip playfully, “And here I thought you prided yourself in being prepared for everything.”  

“Sansa!”  He groaned.  

She giggled, “Maybe if you’re a good boy, I’ll send it to you.”  

“You know I’ve been a very _good boy_ ,” he appealed to her.

She laughed again, “I’ll think about it.  But first, I have some business to attend to.”  

“Business?”  Petyr cocked his eyebrow in curiosity.  He knew she was going shopping with Cersei, what business would they be conducting?  

Sansa smiled at him, “I thought of something.  Stannis said that Margaery was only calling Joffery and Shae said that she was only visiting Olenna.  Now that the Lannisters know about Joffery, they’ll be keeping an eye on him.  But what about Olenna?”  

Olenna, of course.  They had been putting so much energy into Margaery, who kept up the appearance of harmlessness, that they had not yet explored the people she was associating with.  Sansa was right, Jaime would be keeping a closer eye on his son now.  If not him, then _Uncle Tyrion_ would be.  And that left Olenna, easily overlooked in her senility, though in her prime, a strong rival.  

Sansa’s thumb typed a message into her phone before picking her head up, “I just put Shae on it.”  

Petyr thought about the touching family moment they had been sharing and realized that underneath it, Sansa was still thinking about business.  He was proud of her ability to juggle everything and still offer so much of herself to him.  He hugged her close, “You are always thinking.”  

She nuzzled her face into his as she answered, “We both are.  That’s why we’re made for each other.”  He closed his eyes as she offered soft kisses against his cheek.  Her voice was low and contained a warm smile as she said, “Now, would you like to know something else you may not have noticed?”

Petyr’s eyes opened, giving her his full attention.  He loathed to miss anything.  What was she seeing that he wasn’t?  She picked her hand up and held his chin.  She fought a grin and worked to make her voice serious as she said, “All this time…”  

She paused and he turned his head slightly, looking at her, waiting for her to finish.  Just when he thought he couldn’t handle the suspense she spoke again, “You forgot about…”  

She paused again.  Petyr felt about ready to jump out of his skin with anticipation.  She clearly seemed amused by it, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t still important, as Sansa could laugh over matters of life and death.  He wracked his brain wondering what he could have forgotten about, searching her face for any hint of what it could be.  Finally, she finished, “The shower.”  

What?  What was she talking about?  Sansa kissed his forehead and clarified, “You left the water running.”  

Petyr lunged forward, capturing her in his arms, kissing and biting at her neck as she giggled.  He spoke through his grin, “You’re an awful tease!”  

In between giggles, she breathed, “It’s better than being lazy.”  

“Lazy?”  Petyr smiled back at her, resting his chin on her shoulder.  

As her breathing calmed, she pet his face with her hand and said, “Do you realize we’ve spent all morning naked in bed together?”  

Petyr let a palm drop down to her belly, as he teased her back, “Enjoy it now, _Mum_.”  


	19. The Virgin and Her Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Hunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Faradaze for an entertaining conversation about zodiac signs and pointing me in the direction of a very educational website on astrological signs. Our chat was great inspiration!

Once Sansa told Petyr that she was going shopping with Cersei, he insisted she take a driver.  She would have told him that she could drive, but she knew he had a reason for being so insistent and it was probably related to her safety.  

She had decided that she would never argue with him when it concerned safety, not now that she was pregnant.  She could have put up some mild resistance by telling him that Jon could have driven, but she wanted to allow him something he could control.  Petyr was used to pulling so many puppet strings, but this baby was a game he couldn’t rig: a complete wildcard.  If taking a driver would let Petyr go about his day with a smile on his face, Sansa would be agreeable.  

Sansa’s phone vibrated,  _ Now will you send it to me? _

She smiled as she read the message.  The car pulled to a stop and Jon hopped out.  Sansa remained seated waiting for him to open the door as she ignored Petyr’s question and texted back,  _ Did we ever find out about that matter this morning? _

The car door opened as she stared down at her phone, finishing her message.  Not looking up, she accepted the hand that was outstretched to her.  As she locked her screen and took a step out, she looked up and was surprised to see Lancel smiling back at her.  Taken off guard, she smiled back and her eyes darted to either side of her, spotting Jon shrugging an awkward apology off to her left.  Lancel spoke first, “Mrs. Baelish.”  

Sansa smiled as she stepped completely out of the car and let go of his hand, “Lancel, how nice to see you.” 

“The pleasure is all mine,” Lancel gently slid a hand to her waist and gestured forward, “Mrs. Lannister is just inside now.”  

Sansa felt more irritated than necessary at the Lannister’s touch, though allowed herself to be lead by him, glancing over to Jon who followed silently behind.  As they entered the shop, Cersei threw her bags down on the plush couch and snagged a glass of wine out of the sales associate’s hand before making her way over to her.  Cersei waved a hand at Lancel dismissively, “That will be enough.”  

As Cersei linked her arm in Sansa’s, she pulled her away from both men and spoke over her shoulder at them, “Maybe you boys could go play somewhere in eyesight.”  

Sansa gave Jon approval and watched him head over to the couches and pull out a deck of cards.  Lancel waved his hand at Jon, declining to play.  Cersei rolled her eyes and complained, “I apologize, Lancel is so annoying.”  

“He’s not your usual man.”  Sansa pointed out, feeling curious.  

Cersei sighed, “No, he’s not.  Jaime’s cross with him.”  

“Oh?”  Sansa cocked her head back at her.  If Cersei would offer that much, she may say more.  

Cersei grinned, “Lancel’s wife just had a baby.  Jaime has a distaste for men who don’t take to fatherhood.  Lancel’s been taken out of major family meetings and put on escort duty while he adjusts to being so settled down.”  

Sansa smiled back as she replied, “Perhaps being stuck in a store while we try everything on twice will motivate him to appreciate his family.”  

“That was our thought,” Cersei replied as she took another sip from her wine glass.  Sansa felt envious of Cersei’s drink, but thought of the baby and let her hand subtly find her stomach.  Cersei gestured towards a stack of clothes, “Enough about him, try these on.”  

Sansa looked at the mound of clothes ahead of her, “I thought you just got here.”  

“I did.”  Cersei laughed.  “That doesn’t mean that I didn’t do a little pre-shopping.”  

“Pre-shopping?”  Sansa cocked an eyebrow. 

Cersei laughed and shot Lancel a quick glance, “I sent him inside hours ago and made him take pictures of everything in the store.  Then I made him go back in and pull out everything I picked out in your size and the next size up.”

“How do you know my size?”  Sansa furrowed her eyebrows in legitimate curiosity.

Cersei smiled as she looked her up and down and then chuckled before taking another drink of wine, “Come on, please.”  

What did that mean?  Sansa felt herself really starting to question when she felt the vibration of  Petyr’s response,  _ The idiot is going through with it. _

Sansa groaned internally.  Stannis was actually going to arrest his brother.  She wondered what could have pushed him to make such a dumb move.  Her thoughts moved to Renly, how would Petyr do it?  Would he include her on this or take care of it himself?  There were things they did together, and then there were things that her husband attempted to protect her from.  

She considered how nervous he was telling her about it in bed that morning, how he asked her not to be upset with him.  This is something he would try to buffer, keep her out of the loop to avoid judgement.  She knew she needed to assert herself in this, to show him that she approved.  She typed back,  _ We should listen to that song, Mustang Sally--unless you had other plans. _

“Is that Baelish?”  Cersei asked, looking at the phone in Sansa’s hand.  

“Yes.”  Sansa put her phone away, curbing the urge to apologize for it.  She reminded herself that when she was around Cersei, only the weak said sorry.  She held her head up and ignored the response that immediately vibrated in her purse.  

Cersei smiled as she set her drink down and started sifting through the pile of clothes, “Men are so different with their wives than they are in public, aren’t they?  And they become so crazy when we carry their children.  Jaime used to message and call me a thousand times a day whenever I was pregnant.”  She then shrugged playfully, “Now it’s only a few hundred.”  

Sansa laughed.  She could completely relate, not that she was complaining.  She liked that she always felt Petyr’s presence even when he wasn’t actually there.  Careful not to divulge anything too personal between her and her husband, she said something benign, “He is really excited about the baby.”  

“All the best men always are.” Cersei started handing her some clothes, “With Joffery, Jaime read “What to Expect” cover to cover--it’s the only book I think he’s ever read.”  

Sansa laughed and accepted the clothing, walking for a fitting room.  Cersei continued, “And with Myrcella, Jaime compared every milestone to Joffery’s, and then would ask if I thought the differences were due to intelligence or gender.”  

The door clicked shut and Sansa quickly pulled her phone out of her purse and read,  _ I love it when we do these things together. _  She sighed in relief that he understood her message.  

She quickly typed back,  _ Me too.  You make me happy.   _

Cersei’s voice sounded through the door, “And with Tommen, he became obsessed with recording everything.  There are so many videos of my knees in stirrups with a sheet barely covering me at my OB’s office.  Speaking of which, did you pick an OB?”  

Sansa was pulling one of the new dresses on when she heard Cersei ask about the obstetrician and felt herself alarm a little.  Cersei over-shared, a lot.  Sansa figured that it was due to how comfortable the woman felt in her position, forty years old, and sitting on her own little throne as head of the Lannisters for half of her life.  She had seen families come and go, it would make sense that Cersei would brazenly discuss her family with her.  Sansa considered how powerful knowledge was and, as a result, was reluctant to share too much of it.  However, thinking on it, Cersei probably already knew.  However warm their friendship had grown, it was still tentative, and it would be naive to think that Cersei wasn’t just as wary as she was.  She spoke through the door, “Dr. Luwin.”  

Sansa’s fingers flew across the keyboard to Varys, instructing him to better guard Dr. Luwin,  _ Put extra men on doc until I say otherwise.   _ She had just hit send when she heard Cersei respond, “Well that makes sense, actually.”  

“Oh?”  Sansa asked as she opened the door. 

Cersei stared back at her, gesturing for her to turn, “He was your mother’s.”  

Sansa worked to hide the surprise of being validated from her eyes and made her voice lighter than she felt as she spoke, “You knew, you were testing me.”  

Cersei smiled, “I love that we can be honest with each other.  And in the spirit of honesty, keep that dress, it does you many favors.”  

_ For now anyway, _ Sansa thought to herself.  She allowed Cersei to pick at her dress, smoothing it in places as she continued to address her, “It’s quite the compliment really, that you would research me so.”  

Cersei rolled her eyes, “I didn’t, not really anyway.”  

“Oh?”  Sansa walked back into the fitting room, peeling the dress off as she picked up another.  

Cersei sounded through the door, “It would be stupid of me not to know about my friends.  Of course I had it looked into.  You would think less of me if I didn’t.”  

Sansa smiled behind the door, because she knew it was true.  Cersei Lannister could at times be impulsive, but overall, she knew the importance of information.  

_ Does Petyr know that your shopping trip is leading to extra precautions?   _ Varys’ response was quick.  

Sansa’s eyebrow twitched in irritation as she typed back,  _ Does he know how you crave his dick?  Not yet.  Doesn’t make the issue any less important to manage.   _

His response was rapid,  _ I’ve sent someone over. _

Cersei continued, unaware of the secret conversation Sansa was having with Varys, “But that is not how I knew about your mother.  I knew from long ago.”  

Sansa stepped out of the room in another dress and turned around for Cersei to tuck in the tag.  Cersei took another drink of wine and spoke, “After your mother took care of me, she insisted that I go to the doctor, and even made an appointment with hers.”  

Sansa was surprised to hear that her mother cared so much for a Lannister, then Baratheon.  Perhaps it was because Robert was one of Ned's friends.  Either way, Sansa felt some encouragement at how insistent her mother was in making sure Cersei was cared for.  She thought of the personal strength her mother had, after losing so many tiny lives, protecting and nurturing a woman who had murdered one.  Then again, here was Sansa shopping with the same murderer.  Life was not as simple as good or bad.  It was far from the right and wrong her mother had taught her.  She wondered how the world could stray so far from the black and white concepts ingrained in childhood.  Sansa tried not to touch her stomach as she considered what she would teach her child.  

If Cersei noticed Sansa’s contemplative face, she didn’t acknowledge it as she nodded her head in approval of the dress.  Sansa turned to walk back into the room when she heard Cersei continue, “At the time, I thought she sent me out of kindness.  But your mother was quite sharp and I wouldn’t doubt if she insisted I go so that she would know herself for certain if I had done any damage.”  

Sansa smirked thinking of how smart her mother was.  She knew the woman who took her temperature and read her bedtime stories, not this “slippery fish” that Cersei described.  Sansa bit her lip to contain a rogue tear as she thought about how much she wished she had known her better, as a woman.  

As Sansa pulled another dress on, she listened to Cersei explain, “I wouldn’t blame her for wanting to know if I could produce any children for Robert.  She had already had three of her own to protect.”  

Sansa craved information about her mother, needing Cersei to tell her more.  She also hated that she knew so much about her.  It was not appropriate for a different family to know so much, and Sasna was beginning to wonder what her game was, “If you thought that she just wanted info on you, why didn’t you kill Dr. Luwin to assure your confidentiality?”  

She was glad that the door was closed, hoping it muffled the hardness in her voice, they were still playing at friendship, after all.  Cersei sighed as she told a sales associate to pour her another glass of wine and then continued, “Because I was young and naive, and he had a great bedside manner.  Besides, as more and more time went on and my secrets stayed secret, I decided to let sleeping dogs lay.”

Sansa opened the door and Cersei smiled warmly at her, “I’m just so happy I didn’t kill him, because now you can use him!”  

Cersei picked at her clothes and said, “You look divine in purple, has anyone told you that?”  

The image of her purple babydoll nighty burning on her barbeque grill flashed by her eyes.  She shook out of the memory away, wondering why it had so suddenly appeared unprovoked.  She was always amazed at what things triggered memories.  “Petyr doesn’t really like it on me.”  

“Oh?  And what do you like?”  Cersei asked as she smoothed over Sansa’s neckline.  

Sansa responded reflexively, “Blues, greens,...”  Sansa smiled, “and purple.”  

Cersei grinned triumphantly, “Then I think you should buy this in the next size up as well, so you can wear it longer.”  

Sansa didn’t respond, continuing to look in the mirror.  Cersei raised her drink to her lips and spoke over the glass, “Our men like whatever we tell them to.”  

Sansa laughed, knowing that Petyr was not as easily controlled as Jaime appeared to be.

“You don’t believe me?”  Cersei set her drink down and motioned for Sansa to head back into the fitting room.  Sansa turned around and walked back in, surprised to find Cersei squeezing in behind her.  She was unlocking her phone as she directed Sansa, “Pop your tit out.”  

“What?”  Sansa couldn’t hide the disbelief in her voice as she asked.  

Cersei rolled her eyes and said, “I am trying to prove a point.  It’s just a tit, we’ve all got them.  See?”  To Sansa’s further shock, Cersei exposed one of her breasts for a moment before shoving it back in her bra.  

Sansa figured the wine must be getting to the woman, but something about her silly smile assured her and she found herself rolling her eyes before resigning and pulling one side of the dress down, exposing one of her breasts.  

“Don’t forget to smile,”  Cersei reminded her.  “Or you could always lick your lips.”  

Sansa laughed at the absurdity of the moment and smiled genuinely.  The loud camera clicking sound that came from Cersei’s phone did nothing to assure Sansa that she had made the right decision.  Cersei sent her the image instantly, and Sansa felt her phone vibrate with the notification of it.    

Cersei chuckled as Sansa tucked herself back away, “There, send that to Baelish and ask if he likes your dress?  He won’t notice what color it is.”  She then held her phone up for Sansa to watch her delete the image, “Because you’re such a nervous-nelly about it.  And I don’t want to catch Jaime jacking off to it later.”  

“Would he?”  Sansa couldn’t stop herself from asking.  

Cersei laughed, “He’d like the world to think he would.  Unfortunately for him, like I said, men are different with their women.”  Cersei must have realized that she didn’t have a drink in her hand because she started to turn to leave before stopping herself.  “I’m not leaving until you send Baelish that message.”  

Sansa smiled exasperatedly and sent Petyr the image with the caption,  _ Do I look good in purple? _

Cersei chuckled and then let herself out.  Almost instantly after the door latched, Petyr responded,  _ Who took this picture?  It wasn’t you. _

Seeing an opportunity to tease him a little, Sansa replied,  _ You didn’t answer me, why should I answer you? _

She began changing back into her dress and gathering all the clothes before she read his response,  _ Yes.  The purple is nice.    _

_ Thank you,  _ Sansa replied before opening the door and walking towards the counter to pay.  

Her phone buzzed again,  _ Who took the picture?  It’s not a selfie.  Someone else was in the fitting room with you.  Who?  _

Sansa briefly considered teasing him more, but then decided it wasn’t worth the risk that he may actually show up in person, demanding answers.   _ Cersei. _

_ You two are too close for comfort,  _ Petyr replied.  

Sansa handed her credit card over to the cashier and responded,  _ Don’t be jealous. _

Cersei motioned for Lancel to come over and carry everything and Sansa stopped her, “Oh you don’t have to.  Jon can call the car round and load these in it.”  

Jon and Lancel had been standing by the front door looking annoyed at life.  Lancel was relegated to Cersei-duty, of course he looked miserable.  Sansa wanted to say that she didn’t know why Jon looked so upset, but she did.  Jon had pestered her to go shopping at the mall under the pretense of grabbing some frozen yogurt while they were out.  Sansa knew that the real reason why he was so insistent mall shopping was to check out that chick from the sporting good store.  

Years of pining for that girl from afar was making Jon pathetic.  Sansa had hoped that him hooking up on Arya’s twenty-first would give him a confidence boost to go after the mall girl.  Though as far as she could tell, Jon had not made a move.  Too bad for Jon, Sansa and Cersei were not the type to shop at a mall.  They weren’t teenagers anymore, and their attire couldn’t suggest that they were trying to be.  She told herself that even if they had gone, he still wouldn’t have done anything with the opportunity.  After so long, he was only fooling himself.   

Cersei brought her back to reality as she chuckled, “But if Jon handles your things, how will Lancel have a truly wretched time?  Jon’s your bodyguard and Lancel is my shopping bitch.  Help me break him in?”  

Sansa laughed and agreed to let Lancel carry everything out.  In truth, she didn’t really like the idea of Jon being too far anyway, not now with her belly starting to show her vulnerability.  

_ Hey, wanna hit up the range? _  Arya messaged her, unexpectedly.  

Sansa had not been to the range since she found out she was pregnant.  She was worried about the sound being too loud for the baby.   _ I don’t know if I should now that I’m pregnant. _

_ Boo.   _ Arya’s reply was quick and simple, and followed up by,  _ Fine, I’ll ask Jon.   _

_ Ok,  _ Sansa responded.  But it wasn’t.  Not really.  It was something she did with both of them, and now they may be doing it together, without her.  She felt off kilter by Arya’s sudden message, highlighting an opportunity for her to be left out.  

Just then Cersei linked her arm in hers and pulled her gently but insistently towards the door, “My turn?”  

Sansa knew they couldn’t drown in maternity clothes all day, even though it had easily been hours, it would be a give and take, “Of course.”  

As they walked together to the next boutique, enjoying the sunshine that warmed them, Cersei asked, “When are you due?”  

“Beginning of September,” Sansa smiled.  Before, she was so nervous about whether or not she would miscarry again that questions about it were upsetting.  But now that she felt more confident that she would carry to term, she genuinely enjoyed discussing the baby.  

“Oh, that’s Virgo.  That’s wonderful.  It will be an easy child.”  Cersei smiled.  

“Will it?”  Sansa smiled back at her and followed in the store door.  “I’m a Virgo and I don’t know that I was all that easy on my parents.”  

Cersei thumbed through hangers as she spoke, “You were a damn sight easier to manage than that sister of yours.  I’m sure that’s probably still true.”  

Sansa felt her skin prickle.  She didn’t like it when people spoke of Arya, especially with such familiarity.  Considering who Cersei was, and the danger she represented, Sansa tried hard to shield her sister from notice.  She decided to redirect her, “All I know is that I’m supposed to be pure and virginal, and that hasn’t been me for a long,  _ long _ time.”  

Cersei spun around, her face serious, “Oh no.  That’s not what it means to be a Virgo at all.  Virgos are loyal, hardworking, and practical.  That’s an easy kid to raise.”

When put like that, it did sound like an easy child to raise.  Sansa smiled to herself, wondering if her parents saw those traits in her.  She questioned whether or not they were enough to offset all the negative ones.  Cersei was all too keen to share them with her, “They are also extremely over-critical of themselves and  _ loathe  _ to ask for help.”  

_ True and true, _ Sansa thought to herself.  “What about you?”  

Cersei looked up from a hanger and laughed, “I’m a Leo.  I’m creative, passionate, and funny.”  

“What a treat for Jaime.”  Sansa offered her snarky reply.  

“We’re both lions.  It’s probably part of why we are so connected.  We share the same weaknesses--both stubborn and self-centered.”  Cersei looked at the rack as she spoke, her eyebrow raised.  Sansa legitimately couldn’t tell if her expression was due to whatever article of clothing she was looking at or if it was in regards to her thoughts on her husband.  Either way, she didn’t look up as she asked seemingly mindlessly, “What’s Baelish?”  

Sansa felt herself stand at attention.  She was uncomfortable divulging any information about her husband, especially to another family, allies or not.  She thought about it for a moment, trying to determine how the Lannisters could possibly hurt Petyr.  Deciding that there was no harm in astrology, she allowed this piece of information out of her vault.  She didn’t need to give an actual date of birth to share his astrological sign.  She thought of his birthstone, an emerald, as she feigned uncertainty to cover for her delay in reply, “Taurus, I think.”  

Cersei’s head snapped up suddenly, “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”  

“Really?  Sansa furrowed her eyebrow in curiosity.  

Cersei smiled genuinely, “Tauruses are known for being practical, devoted, and responsible.  Baelish always does have the best plans.  And no one could think to question his devotion to you.”

Sansa smiled and let her thumb brush over her belly once Cersei turned around.  She chuckled back over her shoulder to Sansa, “They are also known to be extremely possessive and stubborn.”  

Sansa knew all too well the truth in that, and felt herself tingle as she thought of just how possessive he was, and just how much she liked it.  Cersei held a red dress against herself, “Thoughts?”  

“If you wear it, let your hair down with it.  The back is too plain for you.”  Sansa offered her honesty, she wasn’t sure Cersei heard often.  

Cersei eyed her and then spoke, “Saying I’m gaudy?”  

“Yes.”  Sansa laughed, “But that’s okay, lions like to fluff out their manes.”  

Cersei rolled her eyes, “You laugh all you want, but Leos-fucking-Leos are explosive.  We either fall deeply into each other or we clash and tear each other apart.  I’d say after twenty years, we worked out for the best.”  

Sansa smiled and took the red dress for Cersei while she rifled through the rack some more.  She didn’t have to ask the woman about her and Petyr’s compatibility because Cersei was already telling her, “You, Little Dove, are lucky as hell.  You ended up marrying your most astrologically compatible sign!  Virgos and Tauruses are life-mates.  Not many signs can successfully pair with a Taurus either.  Just Virgos and Capricorns.”  

“Mm, maybe that’s why Petyr and I had such a great time together back at that gala.”  Margaery Tyrell came out from around a rack, with a sinful grin.  She shrugged her shoulders as she divulged, “I’m a Capricorn.”  

Every muscle in Sansa’s body tightened at mention of Petyr and Margaery together.  She was barely aware of Cersei beside her.  The lionesses jaw tightened as she spoke, “Margaery.”  

The Tyrell flipped her chestnut brown locks over her shoulder as she grinned, “Cersei.  Well?  What’s my fortune?”  

“Your lifespan will be directly proportionate to the amount of people you affect.”  Sansa answered, glib.  She cursed herself for responding so quickly.  She knew she was supposed to play nice, keep the peace for the time being.    

Margaery laughed, “You’re so witty.  People must appreciate that about you sometimes.”  

“I have to confess, Margie, I never thought I’d run into you here.”  Cersei raised her chin as she spoke, “The clothing here is a bit more-- _ decent _ .”  

Again, Margaery laughed, “Oh, ladies.  You are quite the pair.”  Though Sansa instinctively slid the dress that was draped over her arm in front of her abdomen, Margaery zeroed in on the sensitive area, “Congratulations on your pregnancy.  My brother and his husband are just over the moon for you.”

Before Sansa could speak, Cersei interjected, “They must be so pleased to have you back.”  

Margaery smiled back at Cersei, “Of course.  Family is very important to us Tyrells.”

_ Family. _  Of course.  Sansa steered the conversation, “Too right.  Your absence was very hard on them, especially since losing Olenna as well.”  

Margaery stared, not answering at first.  Her smile lacked the warmth she tried to fool people with.  Cersei did not miss her discomfort either, “Yes, how is Gam-gam?”

Sansa spoke up, needing to know if she would deny it or not, “I trust you visit?”    

Margaery’s smirk faltered for a split second before she smiled back renewed, “Of course I do.  As I said, family is very important.”  

“I haven’t seen Olenna since the senility set in,”  Sansa couldn’t resist furthering her inquiry, “Does she have any clarity anymore?”  

Margaery attempted to hide her surprise at being asked, but it was no use.  Her smile was one that needed her eyes to corroborate it’s story.  She fooled no one as she chuckled, “That depends on what you want clarity on--if it’s who’s screwing who on her favorite soap opera, then she’s clear as a bell.”  

Cersei smiled wryly, “That’s too bad.  She was an exceptional right hand, though I imagine those are shoes you’re trying to fit now.”  

“I’m always available to help my family, in whatever they need.”  Margaery’s smug smile confirmed how involved she was with Loras and Renly’s affairs.  

Sansa had known that Margaery was acting right hand for a long time, though had wondered how her time away had affected her status.  Sansa pushed, “Good, perhaps you can help the boys explain to the rest of us how your shipments continue to arrive ahead of schedule.”  

Margaery chuckled, “We all use the same supplier, Sansa.  Why don’t you ask  _ them _ why they favor Tyrells?”  

“Oh Margie, have you been ‘charming their snakes?’”  Cersei grinned as she continued, “How many times do I have to tell you?  Giving blowies on cargo ships  _ does _ make you a slut.”   

Sansa couldn’t contain the chuckle that snuck out at Cersei’s jab.  Margaery grinned back at Cersei, “Oh Cersei, your motherly advice just gets sharper in your advancing age.”  

Sansa decided to take a step back and let Cersei at her.  She reasoned that it was always better when people tore each other apart in front of her anyway.  Sansa also reasoned that people did not always need the pretense of friendliness to continue doing business together, it just made things smoother.  If Cersei was willing to make things a little less comfortable for the Lannisters by such an open attack, Sansa would not draw more attention to herself by trying to stop her.

Cersei sneered at Margaery, “I’m just curious, does your jaw lock after a while?  They say it’s pretty common in your line of work.”  

Margaery rolled her eyes and then made a show of checking her phone, “Oh my brother wants me.”  She leaned in and whispered through her smirk, “Perhaps, he needs my advice on something.”  She straightened herself, standing upright again as she took her leave, “Looks like I’ll be seeing you ladies later.”  

Sansa watched the Tyrell walk out the door.  Jon and Lancel had been standing by, waiting for direction.  Sansa’s gaze lingered towards the door a moment too long and Jon looked back at her, searching her eyes.  She shook her head at him, letting him know there was nothing wrong.  

But there was.  Sansa’s irritation was growing.  She hated how Margaery called her husband Petyr and not Baelish.  And she hated how angry she got over the idea that he may have fucked her, years ago, before they even got together.  She told herself she needed to calm down, that she was being ridiculous and irrational.  But she couldn’t shake anger that boiled her blood.    

Cersei’s voice tore Sansa from her possessive thoughts, “If I could get away with bludgeoning that bitch to death in the fitting room with a pricing gun, I would.”  

Sansa turned to face Cersei, her voice turned steely and her eyes burned a hostile blue flame, “I’ll be your alibi.”  

Cersei’s own eyes grew wide, surprised by Sansa’s candor, “Wow, Little Dove, you really hate her.”

Sansa did not reply, simply hardened her face.  Cersei blinked back at her for a couple of minutes before she started to laugh.  Sansa cocked an eyebrow skeptically,  “What’s so funny?”  

“She’s a Capricorn.”  Cersei answered through her laughing.  

“So?”  Sansa scowled at the memory of Cersei telling her that Petyr could possibly want a Capricorn as much as he wanted her.  

Cersei gestured her hands openly, “The only other sign that is as heavily compatible with a  _ Virgo _ as a Taurus is, is a Capricorn.”  

“...and?”  Sansa didn’t follow.  “What are you getting at?”  

“If she wasn’t such a filthy cunt, you guys could all have one hell of a three way together.”  Cersei snickered.  

“ _ Who’s _ the filthy cunt again?” Sansa smiled playfully as she dug at Cersei for even suggesting the Baelishes allow that trash in their bed.  

“Touche.”  Cersei sighed.  She reached for the red dress Sansa had been holding and started for the counter, “I’ll take this, and then we should get going.  Go back to ruling our families.”  

Sansa smiled warmly back at her, though her head swirled with colder emotions.  For the first time in a while, she looked down and saw that Petyr had replied long ago,  _ Not jealous. Just protective of what’s mine.  Those are my tits.   _

Seeing his possessiveness written out for her, and thinking of the sickening way Margaery said, “Petyr,” Sansa suddenly needed him.  She bit her lip and typed a hasty reply,  _ Come fuck them then. _

She wasn’t especially aroused, but she felt a primal urge to claim her husband.  Sansa didn’t like feeling the sudden desperate need to rub her smell all over him, but felt helpless to fight it.  She needed to mark him, however irrational she told herself it was.  

_ Where are you? _  Petyr responded as Cersei picked her bag up off the counter.  

The two women walked through the front door and before parting to their different cars, Cersei leaned over and offered her a light peck on the cheek before saying, “Eventually, one of us is going to kill her.  In case it’s you: happy hunting.” 

Sansa grinned and kissed her cheek back, “Likewise.”  

Jon held the car door open for her and as she climbed in she typed,  _ Find me. _  She needed to take herself back to where Margaery held some claim over him, and rewrite things.  She looked up at the driver through the rear-view mirror and said, “Take me to the museum of art.”

Jon got in beside her and after a couple of minutes of driving, her phone buzzed,  _ I’m following your gps now.   _

_ Good.  I don’t want to wait long. _  Sansa took a deep breath and closed her eyes.  Soon.  She would hold him again, soon. 


	20. Bran-Flakes On the Regular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is that pina colada?”

“I expect more from you,” Sansa’s hard voice chided into the phone.  

“I know.  I’m sorry.”  Rickon had already apologized profusely, but continued nonetheless.

Sansa looked at Jon, who was running his hand through his hair nervously as she spoke to your youngest brother. “Calling Petyr was a dirty move.”  

“I know.”  Rickon exhaled. “I really am sorry, Sansa.”  

“Yeah?  So am I.”  Sansa felt a tear forming in one of her eyes.  She swiped it away quickly before Jon saw.   _Fucking hormones_ , she mentally cursed.  

She heard rummaging in her kitchen and closed her eyes in annoyance.  Jon looked down at the floor, deliberately avoiding the situation.  

“I’m sorry, Sansa.  Please don’t be mad.  He had nowhere else to go.”  Rickon appealed to her.  

Bran poked his head through the doorway, with a mouthful of lunch meat and asked almost unintelligibly, “Oo got any ‘ore ‘ustard?”  

Sansa glared back at him until Jon ushered him back into the kitchen.  “Rickon--you should have come to me.”  

“Petyr’s family now.  And you would have said no.”  Rickon explained.  

“Exactly why you should have come to me.”  Sansa’s eyebrows closed together as she hissed back into the phone.  

“He’s finished his treatment.  He just needs to get back on his feet.”  Rickon reasoned.

That didn’t mean that he would change.  Sansa sighed into the phone, “I can’t keep talking about this.  I’m going.”  

“I really am sorry.”  Rickon tried again.  

Sans felt her head pound, “I love you.”  

“I love you, too.”  Guilt was thick in Rickon’s voice.  

Sansa hung up and stood in her living room, listening to Bran shout, “Hey, if that’s Ricky on the phone, I wanna talk to him!”  

Sansa closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.  This was not how things were supposed to go.  Bran was not supposed to be there, plaguing them with a palpable tension while everyone waited for his next screw up.  Sansa felt as though she did well separating her little Stark Wolf Pack problems from the private oasis where only she and Petyr resided: Baelish Island.  

But this right here, Bran in her kitchen, was not a good separation.  The fact that Petyr was in on it only made it glaringly obvious how unrealistic it was for her to assume the two worlds could be kept from colliding.  A birthday night out with Arya was one thing, having Bran live in her house was another.

Jon walked out of the kitchen and kept his head down as his eyes looked up at her apologetically.  Sansa sighed, “Don’t say it.”  

Jon shrugged and then signed to her that it was Bran, not some random junkie from the street, and that he’d been through months of rehab, perhaps he was better.  Sansa shook her head at him and gestured to the kitchen, “No.  He’s nineteen and he’s raiding my kitchen like a kid after school.”  

Her phone rang in her hand and Sansa looked down to see that it was Varys calling.  He never called, always texted.  Feeling that something was wrong, she instantly accepted the call, “Yes?”  

His voice was it’s usual calm, cool, collected self, “Petyr left quickly.”  

She thought about the aggressive message she had sent her husband upon opening her door to see Bran on her doorstep, bags in hand. "Your man invited me," he declared. She was mid-text as Bran brushed past her into the house, the message reading, _Come home, immediately.  And have an explanation ready._

At the time, she felt proud of how controlled she was in her message, though now remembering it, she felt a bit dramatic.  She couldn’t help the fire that surged through her veins.  Bran’s drug addiction made him reckless and unreliable.  He was someone you helped from afar, never allowed too close to things that mattered.  She thought that Petyr would understand that.  Bran not the first person he’d ever met who suffered from addiction, by far.  She sighed into the phone, “That’s because I called him home.”  

“You’ve called him home before.”  Varys pressed.  

Sansa sighed, “We are having a family issue that needed to be addressed right away.  I appreciate your concern though.”  And she actually did, a little anyway.  While she didn’t like that he pressed her for more information, she appreciated that his first move was to call her.  

“Oh.  Bran.”  Varys sounded remorseful.  

Sansa’s eyes shot up in alarm.  She wanted to hound him for answers, what was he talking about?  Did he know about this?  Did Petyr actually share this with him before her?  She felt her face heat.  In a controlled voice, she asked, “What do you mean?”  

Varys confirmed her suspicion, “Petyr told me a week ago.”  

 _A week ago?!_  Sansa raged inside.  How dare he tell Varys about his invitation to _her_ brother.  She almost asked about it further, but then realized something.  Varys wasn't gloating like he normally did.  In the past, he would have taken the extremely rare opportunity to rub it in her face just how much more Petyr had confided in him.  But that wasn't all she noticed.  She wasn't bothered when Varys spoke her husband's name.   Whereas, when Margaery said "Petyr" she felt hatred bubble beneath her skin.  She shook the thought out of her brain as she listened to Varys continue.  

“He decided to help him, against my advice.”  Varys explained.  

 _Well, we agree on something,_ Sansa thought to herself.  Varys’ voice brought her back to his explanation, “He asked me to find him some work.”

Sansa felt the contents of her stomach rise into her throat as she pictured all the wrapped packages of cocaine and other terribly addicting substances they dealt in, scattered in warehouses and harbors across the upper half of the city.  Her voice was much more frantic than she had meant for it to be, “But he’s an _addict_.”

Sansa barely noticed Jon’s hands waving in front of her, drawing her attention back to him.  She looked up and saw that he was signing that Bran was in recovery.  

Varys added, “Yes, Petyr did insist that the job be suitable.  I’ve got a lot of odd jobs around the clubs for him to be helpful with, away from the drugs.”  

“Clubs have drugs,” Sansa insisted.  

Varys sighed, “A lot of places do.  No one will sell to your brother because he is your brother.  And because your husband has a special interest in him.  People would be suicidal to sell to him.”  

Sansa sighed, trusting the truth in that.  Before she could think of what to say next or how to end the conversation, Varys’ voiced hitched in genuine interest, “But enough of all of that, have you decided what room you’ll be putting him in?”  

“What?”  Sansa breathed.  She felt a buzz in her ear and pulled the phone away to look down and see a text from Arya, _I know it’s stupid as fuck to help Bran-Flakes, but Rickon’s got a big heart.  Take it easy on the kid._

Sansa fought a growl at the message as she brought the phone back to her ear and caught the tail end of Varys, “It just makes sense to keep the baby closer to your room.  And the room on the far west side has a balcony, very unsafe for a child.”  

“What?”  Sansa blinked a few times, realizing how planful Varys was for her baby.  She silently beat herself up for not ever thinking of where the baby would go.  “Yeah, I agree.”  She could have gotten defensive and asked Varys how he knew her home so well, but the answer was obvious.  This was a house she moved into.  This was Petyr’s house.  Which meant that Varys had played interior designer.  She would have bristled at his intimate knowledge of the private areas of her home, but instead she felt grateful.  Grateful that he had thought of what she hadn’t.  Grateful that he had called her when he didn’t need to.  And finally, grateful that he didn’t seem to be against her, using any of this to his advantage.  

“Oh good.”  He sounded genuinely relieved.  “I’ll let you go to deal with your family.”  

“Okay.”  Sansa said mindlessly as she stared at the hardwood floor, beating herself up for not being more thoughtful.  

Before Varys hung up, she felt the phone buzz in her hand.  It was Robb, _I get that what he did wasn’t okay, but you know he wears his heart on his sleeve.  He’s really upset._

Sansa felt her eye twitch, **_He’s_ ** _upset?_  She thought about how sweet and innocent Rickon was, always thinking of others, and felt irritated.  She couldn’t think of others right now.  She was busy thinking of what this meant for her and the little family she was building.  

Sansa was eighteen weeks pregnant now, and her baby the size of a bell pepper.  Each day the child grew stronger and it became more certain that she would deliver this tiny life into the world.  Things were serious, and needed preparation.  It was a preparation that she knew nothing about.  Though she had Petyr, she truly felt so alone in this.  She was the mother.  She was supposed to know.  But how could she know without her own mother to lead by example?  Sansa was not the first of the Stark children to have a child, but Robb and his wife were oceans away from her, completely useless.  The only other people she associated with were the other families.  Loras and Renly could not relate and Cersei had her children over a decade ago.  For as wild and care-free as she presented, her knowledge in childbearing and rearing was dated.  

Sansa hadn’t noticed she was crying until she felt Jon embrace her in a warm hug.  It was then that she sobbed with the stress of it all.  She felt Jon’s arms tighten and she sighed into the certainty of his hold.  He pulled her away a little and looked back at her.  His hands weren’t free to talk, but she knew what his eyes asked.  If she was alright.  Why was she so upset?  

She picked her arms up and hugged him back, pressing her face to his chest she answered, “I’m not ready.   _We’re_ not ready.  And now Bran’s here and I didn’t even know what room was the baby’s.”  When she sniffed back tears she caught a whiff of his scent and couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Is that _pina colada?”  What the hell kind of mens cologne was pina colada scented_ , she asked herself.

Jon sighed, unable to answer while he was caught in her hug.  She had offered one last squeeze before she was about to let go when she heard her husband’s voice, more nervous than joking ask, “Should I be jealous?”  

Sansa felt herself tensing, instantly pulling away from Jon to scowl at Petyr.  Angry and drunk on emotion, her wit failed her as she uttered, “You can be however you want, I don’t care.”

Petyr looked back at her, his eyes dilated into dark obsidian stones glinting in the lamplight, “Sansa.”  

“No!  You kept this from me, and decided this without me.  Imagine all the other things you can do _without me_.”  Sansa spat out at him, trying to rattle him.  

He took a step forward, his eyes revealing his guilt as his voice thickened, “What are you telling me?”  

Sansa glared back at him, “Someone who respected me wouldn’t make these decisions without me.”

She followed Petyr’s gaze over to Jon.  Petyr opened his mouth, but before he could say anything she cut him off, speaking to Jon as she looked at him, ”Thank you, Jon.  We need some space right now, if you don’t mind.”  Sansa knew it was petty but she didn’t want Petyr to be the one dismissing her cousin.    

As Jon left the room, Petyr took a step forward.  His face held regret.  “I am sorry.”

“For which part?  For deciding this without me?  Or for not telling me? Or for moving someone into our home without my consent?”  Sansa stood still, unwilling to move to avoid his slow advance.  

“All of it.  And none of it.”  Petyr sighed.  

Her eyes widened at that, “Excuse me?”  

Petyr’s head hung lower than she was used to seeing the proud man carry it, “I thought what I was doing was right.”  

“Then why was it a secret?”  Sansa’s voice caught as she added, “ _From me._ ”  

Petyr started to speak but she cut him off again, “And don’t give me some bullshit line about it being a surprise.”  

“No.  It wasn’t a surprise.”  Petyr shook his head as he admitted, “I was buying time.”  

“For what?”  Sansa cocked her head in question.

Petyr took a tentative step forward and explained, “For things to work out.  If I had told you from the start that Rickon called me looking for help for Bran, you would have automatically declined.”  

Sansa crossed her arms over her stomach, “And that’s my right.”  

“It is.”  Petyr knew better than to argue that point at least.  He took another step forward, “You would have said no before you ever had a chance to see him.  And you may have regretted that.”  

“How heavy handed of you to decide what I would regret.”  Sansa tightened her grip on herself, unwilling to hear that his intentions may not be malevolent after all.  

“I wanted, first of all, to see if he’d actually succeed and complete the program before I upset you with the prospect of seeing him.  And then I wanted to have something set up to present to you.  A plan.”  Petyr spoke fast.

Sansa’s mind flashed to the night he proposed to her, how nervous he was and how he had presented his proposal originally as if it were a business arrangement, prenuptial agreement and all.  It was so very like him to want a plan to present.    

Petyr’s eyes plead with hers to be understood, “I never said that he could move in.  I told Rickon that his brother would always have a place to stay.  But that doesn’t have to be here.   Say the word and I’ll put him up somewhere else.  I just wanted you to see him in person and decide.  Feelings can change when you actually see the person.”  

“It’s a good thing I have you to influence my decisions, as I clearly can’t be responsible to make up my own mind.”  The sarcasm dripped from her lips as she stared him down.  

“That’s not what this is, Sansa.”  Petyr looked away from her.  

Feeling as though she were dominating the conversation, she smirked, “And what the hell is it, Petyr?”  

He stood silent, his hands finding his pockets.  It was something he did when he was uncomfortable, and she knew it.  She remained silent, waiting for him, angry.  She was just about to turn and walk away when his shaky voice tumbled from his lips as he spoke down to the floor, “You are losing him.”  

“What?”  Sansa breathed, not following the sudden shift in mood.  

Petyr slowly brought his face up, not looking at her directly, as he said, “I know you feel like you lost him a long time ago.  To drugs and addiction.  But he’s still alive.  And every moment that he’s still alive, there is a chance.  An opportunity to get your brother back.”  He finally met her eyes, “I didn’t want you giving up that chance.”  

Sansa stood silently, her stomach turning with the intensity of the emotions displayed.  She was taken off guard by how affected Petyr looked at the idea of Sansa letting Bran go.  She had been so wrapped up in the baby and the Tyrells and the Lannisters and everything else in the world, that she truly hadn’t given Bran much thought.  She saw the validity in Petyr’s concern.  

And of course Petyr would be concerned.  Petyr gave most things careful consideration.  Family was especially important to Petyr, being that before Sansa he hadn’t had any.  She knew that she was enough for him, if they never decided to have children and she had no family of her own, she would be enough.  He would be grateful for her affection.  But she did have a family, it was something that she brought to the table, like it or not.  And she knew Petyr liked it.  Petyr was reserved around them, but she saw the happiness in his eyes whenever her family made themselves the center of attention.  

Where Sansa tried to buffer the Starks, Petyr consistently pulled them in.  It was Petyr who insisted that Sansa invite her brother Robb to their wedding, even though he and Sansa were at odds.  It was Petyr who insisted that Rickon stay with them every holiday break and supported Sansa’s closer relationship with her sister.  

And it appeared that now it was Petyr who was willing to go up against Sansa herself to make sure that Bran wasn’t slowly cut out of her life.  It made sense really, where else was Bran supposed to go when he was done with rehab?  Rehab that Petyr insisted they place him in and cover all the costs for.    

Unable to bear the silence, Sansa sighed.  She knew in her heart that Petyr was trying to do the right thing.  And she understood why he wouldn’t tell her.  But when was he going to?  Was this how she was supposed to find out?  “So was my finding out like this, part of your plan?”  

Petyr took a step forward, “I--”  

She cut him off, “Because Varys knew about this a week ago.  Don’t tell me that you couldn’t have thought of a way to tell me sooner.”  

Caught mid-stride, Petyr gestured in the air, “Yes, Varys knew a week ago.  To set up work.  I wasn’t going to say anything to you until I had something lined up for him.  He only told me that he had work yesterday.”  

“Then why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”  Sansa pressed, still emotional from feeling betrayed before.  

Petyr took another step forward, “I should have.  I am sorry.”  

Sansa looked down, “Varys has known for a week, how long have you known?  When did Rickon call you?”  

“Weeks ago.”  Petyr’s response was so blunt and honest that she blinked.  

“Weeks?!”  Sansa felt her face heat.  

“Yes.  Rickon called me weeks ago.  But I didn’t know if Bran would graduate the program any time soon.  It wasn’t a twenty-eight dayer; they rarely do programs like that anymore.  This one was more intensive, and based on when they felt he was ready.”  He took another step closer, this time reaching for her.  She knew that Petyr had researched the program extensively back when they first insisted Bran go.  She was ashamed to admit that she didn’t know much about it.     

Feeling defensive that Petyr had clearly been more invested in her brother than she was, she insisted, “He’s an _addict_.  This is a bad idea.”  

Petyr leaned in closer, “Ultimately, the choice is yours.”  His body, so near hers, warmed her as he continued, “I told you that I would send him away, and I meant it.”  

“I doubt that.”  Sansa breathed.  She cleared her throat, “You would go through all of this work, just to turn him away the same night he arrives?  You are paying me lip service and I don’t appreciate it.”  

“I knew when I decided this that it may all blow up.  That you may still feel firm in your decision to turn him away.  And I did it anyway.”  Petyr pulled her into his arms.  

She realized she wasn’t resisting him as she asked, “Why?”  

“I told you,” He leaned in, his face hovering by her ear, “While he’s alive, there’s still a chance to get him back.  I want you to have every chance.”

She closed her eyes at the feel of him kissing her cheek.  She felt him rest his forehead against her face, “We work with addicts every day in our line of work.  Can we really not work with him?”  

Sansa opened her eyes and huffed, “I don’t like this.”  

“Nobody likes addiction, you don’t ‘treat’ things you like.”  Petyr gently rubbed his goatee against her.  “He does not need to stay here with us.  I can get him a place to stay, to keep my promise to Rickon.  And Varys already found him work.  Because he is family, I will offer it to him.  Just give me the go.”  

Sansa thought about the idea of a job for Bran.  He had never worked before, not that she knew of.  Maybe a job was what he needed.  She remembered her father lecturing her and Robb about responsibility when they were younger.  For a moment, she wondered what her parents would do with Bran if they were still alive.  Would Bran be like he was if they hadn’t passed?  How would all the Stark kids be?  At the thought of kids, Sansa thought of Petyr’s words: _My promise to Rickon._  She paused for a moment and then took a deep breath, “Rickon was the one that called you.  Don’t think that manipulation wasn’t intentional.”  

Petyr sighed, “I am sure that all of your family knows that I find it hard to let the little one down.”  

Sansa understood the feeling.  Rickon was so innocent compared to the rest of the family, and he never asked for anything.  It only made her want to give him everything.  Apparently, that was something else her and her husband had in common.  

She was about to say so, but became mildly distracted as her stomach turned and she feared it was gas.  Even after being with Petyr for a few years, she still didn’t feel comfortable passing gas in front of him.  She blamed that on her mother, a lesson she managed to ingrain at such a young age.

Petyr slid a hand down to her stomach, his voice earnest as he spoke, “I really am sorry.”  She barely heard his apology, worried that he would feel the little gas bubbles move in her stomach.  Embarrassed, she felt her neck heat.  

She covered his hand with hers and inhaled, hoping that her movement would distract him from the percolating in her stomach, “You say that, but you knew what you did was wrong--however well intentioned.  It’s convenient for you to be sorry now, thinking forgiveness is something so easily given.”      

Petyr’s hand raised from her belly and caught her face, tilting her to him as he pressed their familiar kiss to her lips.  He deepened it, holding her there, mouth open to his for longer than usual.  When he pulled back, she was left catching her breath.  His eyes met hers as he admitted, “I was sorry then too.  And needing your forgiveness is by no means easy.  And it shouldn’t be.”  

Sansa nodded her head in agreement with him.  It felt good to know he understood not only the severity of what he had done, but also just how little it would be tolerated in the future.  She took a deep breath and felt her feet under her again, slowly coming down from the anxiety of the evening.  “What are we going to do with Rickon?”

Petyr looked back at her as if he didn’t understand what she was referring to.  She offered an empty smile as she acknowledged, “I just told you that his calling you was a manipulation.”  

“I don’t think that was Rickon’s idea.  I am betting it was Bran’s.”  Petyr reasoned.  

“Are you so sure?”  Sansa remembered how apologetic Rickon was on the phone.  She then remembered how Arya and Robb appealed to her and wondered for a moment just how many Starks were involved in this.  She felt her voice harden, “Even if this was not his idea, which I’m not entirely convinced it wasn’t, he still allowed himself to be manipulated.”

Petyr sighed, “He did.  Even though he’s almost a man, Rickon’s still a sentimental boy.”  

Sansa would not go easy on her brother, understanding the world they lived in.  “He used his name to get something.  He needs to learn what that means.”  Rickon Stark, brother-in-law to Littlefinger, had pulled in a favor.  This was not your typical case of brother-in-law begs other brother-in-law for help.  Petyr was Littlefinger, and their empire was built on favors, debts, and a willingness to do what others wouldn’t.  

Petyr looked her in the eye, “What would you have me do?”  

“Let him know that he owes you, and that your favor could be called in at any time.”  Sansa’s eyes steeled.

“The favors we call in get messy.  Is this what you want for him?”  Petyr asked, almost incredulously.  

Sansa shook her head no.  Not in a million years did she want this for her baby brother.  She also knew that the world would not shield him from itself and he needed some awareness.  “He needs to learn the fire is hot.  We will find something suitable to smarten him up.”  

“It’s not unreasonable for family to ask family for help.  It doesn’t always have to come at a price.”  Petyr cocked his eye at her.  

“You are right.  But allowing yourself to be manipulated by family does.”  Her words were sharper than she meant as her gaze lingered on Petyr’s hurt face.  

“I didn’t mean to _manipulate_ …”  The words dropped out of Petyr’s mouth uncoordinated.  

 _Of course you meant to manipulate me by having me see Bran in person,_ Sansa thought to herself before saying it outloud, “Yes, you did.”  Sansa gently pulled out of his grasp and rubbed her stomach.  “I forgive you, this time.  Because I know what family means to you.”    

Petyr grasped for her and she stepped just out of reach.  Her phone vibrated and she wasn’t especially interested but felt the need for a break from the intensity of the night.  She held up her phone, “I’m taking this, you can go in the kitchen and see Bran, since it’s so important to deal with him _in person_.”  

Petyr shook his head, “Sansa.”  

She glared back at him and he closed his mouth, exhaling audibly through his nose in frustration.  She watched him turn to leave and couldn’t resist warning him, “And Petyr--don’t need my forgiveness again.  It’s not something I have a lot of.”  

His eyes widened and he nodded in grave understanding.  He looked back at the kitchen and said, “Fine, I’ll go.”  As he turned away, she heard him grumble, “I need a drink anyway.”  

She knew they would connect later that night in bed, when they could be naked and vulnerable together, guards down.  The bedroom had always been their common ground, where they bared themselves to each other, in more ways than just the conventional.  

After the day she was having, she needed the pleasure he brought her.  Their arguments always burned bright in the moment, though, thankfully died fast.  Feelings of anger and hurt never survived the morning light.  She smiled, anticipating the long night of closure to come, and accepted the call.  Club music played in the background and she could hear Loras laughing, “Shortcake, we miss you!”  

Sansa bit back a smile.  She knew they were inebriated and probably wouldn’t remember what they were saying, but it didn’t take away from the good feeling of having someone reaching out to her.  She didn’t bother to ask if Renly was there too, “Hey boys.”

Renly’s voice sounded into the receiver, “Come out!”  

Sansa rolled her eyes and said, “Maybe some other time.”  

Loras whined into the phone, “That’s what you always say!  You never hang out with us anymore.  Not since my sister got back.”  

Sansa stiffened at mention of Margaery.   _Margaery the capricorn-whore._ Renly chuckled into the phone, “You can’t still be upset that she tricked your man forever and a day ago.”  

She forced herself to smile as she spoke, “I’m pregnant now.  Clubs aren’t my scene anymore.”  That wasn’t entirely true as she had no qualms about going to any of her and Petyr’s establishments.  “We’ll do brunch or something.”  

Renly groaned over the phone to Loras, “Just hang up Babe, she’s blowing us off.”  

Sansa offered a meek protest, “No, I mean it.”  

“Yeah, she’s too busy enjoying the breeder club with that stuck up bitch.”  Loras wasn’t pulling any punches as he referred to Cersei.  

“Once you both sober up, you’ll be calling for an apology brunch.”  Sansa made herself sound confident and playful to them.  As soon as they hung up, she thought about how good it would be to get out of the house for a little bit.  For a moment, she actually wished she could take the Tyrells up on their offer.  

Sansa reached down and rubbed her stomach knowing that the likelihood of her going clubbing was slim to none.  She started feeling that bubbling feeling again and rolled her eyes at her gurgling insides before suddenly her head shot up in realization.  The same place in her belly moved, with more persistence.  This was not gas, this was intentional.  

Sansa called out to Petyr, and he appeared by her side immediately, “What is it?  What’s wrong?”  

She looked up at him with a face-splitting grin as she said, “I felt it.”  

He looked back at her in question.  Realization finally hit him too when she grabbed his hands and put them on her belly.  He gasped, “You can feel it?”  

“Yes!”  She pushed his hands into her belly harder, “Can you?”  

He stilled, concentrating.  He slowly shook his head, “No.”  She knew she shouldn’t be disappointed, the app told them that he wouldn’t feel it when she did.  But she was; she wanted to share this with him.  She pitied him that he couldn't feel the light push of their child.    

He leaned in and kissed her, drawing her into his arms again, “It’s okay, you’ll just have to feel our baby for the both of us until I can too.”

Sansa felt a warmth wash over her, and tears build in her eyes at the perfect feeling of the _three_ of them together in one embrace.  The Baelishes.  Suddenly, Bran being in her kitchen didn’t matter as much.  

  


	21. Birthday Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That didn’t make it any less surprising when it literally kicked him in the face.

Petyr knew better than to give into his natural instinct to check the vibrating phone on the nightstand.  Sansa tilted in just such a way that a jolt of pleasure shot down the length of his dick and tightened his balls more than he thought possible.  Pregnancy sex was definitely not the same as regular sex.  Sansa’s body had changed, on the inside.  She was so much softer, wetter, fuller, even _plump_ .  She was always a pretty snug fit, at least at the start of the day before they’d been at it a few times, but she was so much more so now.  Dr. Luwin had explained that high blood flow to that area would also increase sensitivity.  The pregnancy app had also warned that Sansa would experience a boost in her sex drive due to the increased sensitivity.  But neither sources mentioned how the feel of her would change, _to him._   

He found himself relishing their sex even more, and was beyond thankful for a wife who gave herself and took from him so wantonly.  Then again, Sansa was always a very sexual person--well, not _always._  His mind wandered for a moment to memories of their first few sexual encounters; she needed help to fully engage.  He smiled proudly as he remembered that it was he that had helped her put the past behind her and realize her sexual self so comfortably.    

“Are you losing focus?”  Sansa chuckled down to him as she slowly rocked back and forth, sweat drenching her hair.

His hands moved from her hips, traveling up her sides, cupping her breasts, “How could I?”  

Sansa reclined back, resting her palms on the tops of his thighs behind her, pushing her breasts further into his hands, “Business.  You never stop.”  She flashed her eyebrows at him as she spoke seductively, “I should punish you for your inattentiveness.”  

Petyr would gladly suffer any of Sansa’s punishments and ask for more--she was always so creative.  He swiped his thumbs over her nipples, never letting go of his grasp on her breasts, as he thrust up into her.  She gasped at being raised up off the bed with him.  He grinned proudly as she uttered a cry of pleasure when he did it again.  He could always get in deep when she was on top, but those thrusts helped him mine deeper still.  Looking up at her, lost in the sensation of his increased vigor, he commanded, “Fuck business.”

She laughed and nodded her head, “Mm.”  

He let one hand slide down and grab a handful of her ass, helping her ride up and down, “And, no.  I’ll never stop.”  

She looked down at him with a naughty grin, “Promise?”  

Unable to resist the look on her face, Petyr lowered his hand from her breast, and gripped her other cheek.  He thrust himself upwards as he pulled her down.  She let go of his thighs and leaned forward, resting her palms on his chest as he took the reins.  Her belly pushed into his pelvis, reminding him that they weren’t alone.  Her eyes shut and her forehead wrinkled as she moaned in pleasure.  Petyr felt himself getting closer and closer to his finish, but couldn’t tell how close she was.  Before the pregnancy, he could read her every expression and sound.  Now she was so responsive, she sounded close almost from the start.  He wanted to wait for her, but he couldn’t help himself.  His hips kept pumping, unable to stop himself from sliding in and out of her plump pussy.  Before he knew it, she was whimpering as he exploded inside her, gripping her ass so hard he knew he left white finger indentations at the least, though probably a full set of bruises.  

Catching his breath, he slowly opened his eyes and looked up at her proudly smiling down at him.  She was so much more alert than him and he knew immediately that she hadn’t orgasmed.  Regret washed over him as he apologized, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t--”  

She chuckled, “The fact that you, the epitome of self-control, _couldn’t_ lets me know just how good I am.  You’re welcome.”  

He slowly slid out of her, and she made no motion to get up, taking residence on his pelvis as her hand reached for her belly.  Petyr found himself drawn to it too, letting both of his hands rest beside hers.  He marveled at how hard it would feel under his palms whenever she came.  Sansa had called Dr. Luwin the first time they noticed it and the old man explained that the uterus contracts when a woman orgasms, it was perfectly normal.  Petyr remembered being worried that the contractions would hurt the baby but was assured that it didn’t harm the baby at all.  Sansa smiled and told him that, if anything, it felt like a hug.  He noted with a touch of disappointment, how it lacked that hardness now.  

He brought his fingers down, teasing her seam open to him, reaching for her clit.  She shuddered on top of him as he smiled and offered, “Why don’t you slide up here, and let me finish you off with my tongue?”

She moaned under his touch and he watched her inch further up his abdomen.  He smiled as he thought about her sitting on his face, but then felt a surge of disappointment as she reached over to the nightstand beside him instead.  He dropped his hands and asked, “What are you doing?”  

Sansa remained still, staring at his phone as she pushed the number sequence to unlock it.  She turned the phone to him, it was a message from Varys reading, _Will you confirm to proceed as Sansa has directed?_

“What?”  Petyr tried to sit up.  

Sansa wouldn’t let him, her voice playful as she instructed, “Confirm for him.”  

“Confirm what?”  Petyr tried to sit up again.  Sansa rolled her eyes and got up off of him.  He took the phone she offered him, “I thought we were in the middle of something...I was going to--”  

“Yes, I know.”  Sansa chuckled.  “But no.”  

“No?”  Petyr raised an eyebrow.  

“No.  Now, confirm to Varys.”  Sansa stood up and walked towards the door to the bathroom, her hips swaying with the motion.  From behind, no one would ever guess she was pregnant.  Petyr sat on the edge of the bed, looking dumbfounded.  What was she up to?  

She smiled over her shoulder, “Are you coming?”  

“What?”  Petyr felt as though he’d missed something.  

Sansa turned around, walked back, and gripped his arms.  She tugged at him to stand up until they met each other eye to eye.  She smiled, “Do you remember when we were first dating?”  

His mind instantly went to White Harbor and the peek-a-boo undies he never got to see, trapped under a skin-tight beige dress.  It was the first time she allowed his hands to travel the curves of her body, and he had only needed to beat one man to a bloody pulp to do it.  He grinned in memory, “Yes, you shot out a window when I kissed your neck.”  

Sansa scrunched her face in irritation, “No!  Not then.  When I showed you the importance of giving up some control to me.”  

Petyr was lost, what was she talking about?  He shook his head at her, not understanding.  That was a lesson she taught him daily.    

She leaned in and kissed him as she purred, “You know, with the cuffs…”  

“Oh,” Petyr chuckled.  “I hardly think we were just _dating_ back then.”  

Sansa rolled her eyes, “We weren’t married or living together.”  

Petyr smiled smugly, “We were committed though.”  Then his smile faded as an awful thought crept into his brain, “Weren’t we?”  

Sansa laughed and griped his chin, pulling him towards her.  She rubbed her lips lightly against his as she whispered, “Completely,” before biting his bottom lip.  

He reflexively groaned as his dick twitched in response.  He silently cursed, _Fuck, how does she do that?_  Standing in front of him, belly rounded to the tune of twenty weeks, looking every bit the mother he made her, Sansa could still get a rise out of him like a stripper grinding a john.  He reached for her, appreciating her versatility.  She pulled away from him, instructing, “Confirm for Varys.”  

Petyr frowned at the loss of contact.  “Fine.  Why?”  

Petyr was already punching in the response to Varys when Sansa responded, “Because you’re going to give control to me for the day.  I’ve instructed Varys to limit all communication, and anything of extreme importance, will be forwarded to my phone.  Not yours.”    

“What?  Why?”  Petyr’s head shot up.  He was about to text Varys back, rescinding his approval.  

Sansa took his phone from his hand and opened the nightstand drawer.  She put the phone in the drawer and shut it loudly for emphasis as she watched him.  Petyr couldn’t help it, he felt as though a part of him was gone.  He knew it sounded silly, but it was how he stayed connected with everything and everyone.  The business was always running and he always had to be in the loop.  Then his mind flashed to the beautiful woman in front of him; if he didn’t have his phone, how would he check in with her during the day?  He kept his voice calm to mask the panic rising within, “I don’t like this.”  

Sansa smiled, “You liked giving me the reins before.”  

“I think I’d rather be handcuffed to a bed,” Petyr grumbled.  

Sansa took his hand and pulled him toward the bathroom, “It’s still early yet.”  

Petyr watched her turn on the water as he complained.  He tried to make it sound playful, but he did truly feel disappointment brewing as he said, “First, you won’t let me pleasure you.  Then you take my phone away from me.  Now I have to go the whole day without talking to you.”  

Sansa stepped into the shower and pulled him in behind her as she grinned and clicked her teeth, “Now, now, _Mr. Baelish_.”  

His eyebrow shot up in surprise and excitement.  She said, _Mr. Baelish._  She only ever said _Mr. Baelish,_ when she was gearing up for a roleplay where she was naughty and needed to be spanked.  Petyr felt his cock tingle at the memory of the french maid’s uniform she wore as she laid across his lap.  He felt his cock stiffen further at the memory of her warm red ass under his stinging palm and her crying out, “Yes, Mr. Baelish!”

 _She’s going to be the death of me,_ Petyr thought as he brought his attention back to the present.  Sansa smiled, “You had better talk to me today.”  

“You took my phone away.”  Petyr frowned again remembering.   _And I let you do it,_ he scolded himself mentally.  

She motioned for him to sit on the built in seat.  He came face to face with her belly, sliding both of his hands to either side of it.  Her words tumbled down effortlessly as she reached for the detachable shower head off to the side, “I never took myself away.”  

Petyr looked up at her as she explained, “It’s your birthday.”  

Yes, it was.  He never thought she had forgotten, but at thirty-nine years old now, he didn’t think it warranted much mention.  Birthdays had never really been a big thing for him like it was for other people.  Perhaps it was because he never had huge parties as a child, and was lucky to get any gift from whichever state appointed guardian had him on their caseload at the time.  In the time they were together, Sansa had tried to do things for him, but he never expected it from her.  He shrugged, “And?”  

Sansa leaned forward and kissed his forehead, “ _And_ I want to give my husband a gift.”  

Petyr watched her step inbetween his legs, her belly taking up most of his field of vision as her arm holding the sprayer extended behind him, rinsing his back with the warm water.  Her voice was soft and soothing as she raised the spray to his hair, “You don’t need another car.”

Petyr agreed, though he wouldn’t turn one down.  He lifted his chin so that she could get more of his hair.  Their shower had four different showerheads, but Sansa insisted they have a handheld by the seat as well.  He thought it might be overkill but went with it anyway.  The first night she let him use it on her, he completely understood the importance of having the permanent fixture was grateful he had it installed.  She continued, “Or a watch.”  

Petyr closed his eyes as she put some shampoo on the top of his head and said, “But you do need me.  Don’t you?”  

Petyr opened his eyes and nodded his head, “Uh-huh.”  There was no point in trying to deny or resist.  If he could spend every waking moment with the woman, he would.  In fact, he had tried on more than one occasion.  It was no use, she was determined to keep working at Stark-Naked now that her nausea had passed.  He wanted her to have her own space, for her sake.  But he never wanted her far from him, and now with the child, he especially hated the time of the day when they were apart.  

Sansa pulled his head towards her and rested it on her belly as she worked her fingers into his hair and spoke, “Today, it’s just you and me, all day.  No distractions.  No work.  No Bran.  Just us.”  

Petyr closed his eyes, his cheek against her wet skin.  She was right, this was exactly what he needed.  And it wasn’t something he thought he’d get anytime soon, especially with Bran around.    

He was proud of her for allowing her brother to stay at their house.  After she felt the baby kick her, her whole demeanor changed.  She was so strong and confident, instantly telling Bran which room to settle in.  For the past two weeks, Sansa allowed her brother’s presence in their home with at least a moderate level of patience.  And to the kid’s credit, he wasn’t a completely terrible roommate.  He didn’t have anyone over and went out a lot.  

Petyr remembered at first how upset Sansa would get, worried that he was out doing drugs.  Petyr had some men follow him to see if he was up to anything, only to find out that Sansa had already sent her girl, Shea, on the task as well.  Luckily, the kid hadn’t screwed up.  He was out a lot doing odd jobs around the clubs for Varys.  And when he wasn’t, he was with Joffery, surprising as that was.  

At first, Sansa got protective and told Petyr that she didn’t want Bran with Joffery, “He’s dumb and does drugs.”  

Petyr remembered agreeing that the little shit was indeed stupid, and didn’t turn down the dutchie when it came around.  But Petyr reasoned that it made sense for Bran to associate with other major family players.  Whether he liked it or not, Bran was a part of the Baelish crime family and everyone knew it.  Especially since he was staying in their home, and that had to be common knowledge by now.  Petyr had reasoned with Sansa and she calmed.  Though she warned that the first time she found out they got high together there, would be consequences.  The threat was open-ended and vague, but coming from Sansa, Petyr knew to take it seriously.  

Sansa had always been protective of her siblings, though Bran always seemed to rank lowest in order of who got her attention.  As the days passed, however, and Bran continued to not disappoint, Sansa seemed to warm to him.  Petyr remembered waking up to the smell of eggs and bacon filling their home.  When he came upon Sansa, expecting to find her in her morning ritual, he was surprised to find Bran scraping eggs out of the pan onto her dish.  

Petyr felt a slight bristle of displacement to see someone taking his place in their morning routine.  He pushed the feeling away, knowing he was being ridiculous and joined them, “I didn’t know you cooked.”  

Bran smiled with a mouthful of toast as he shrugged, “It’s all I know how to make.  It’s usually only breakfast places that are open twenty-four/seven.  And greasy breakfasts are best for hangovers.”  

Petyr flashed his eyes over to Sansa, who looked down at her plate in disappointment.  Bran cleared his throat, “But you know, that was before.”  

Sansa smiled back at him and sipped her decaffeinated coffee.  Petyr saw the slight frown on her face, knowing she hadn’t gotten used to the sour taste of decaf and probably wouldn’t ever.  She brought her arm back and subtly pushed it against her chest as she sighed a little.  Petyr knew that meant that her breasts were tender and offered her a look of sympathy.  

Her gesture apparently wasn’t lost on Bran as he pointed at her chest with his fork, “Tits hurt?”  

Sansa’s head almost spun at the rate she turned to stare back at him, “What?”  

“Wear two bras.”  Bran answered before taking another bite.  He chewed a little and continued, “Like wear a regular one and then put one of those sports ones over it, holds ‘em tight so they don’t hurt.”  

Petyr and Sansa both stared back at Bran who looked back at them and gulped his food down, “Look, I was banging this pregnant chick and--”  

“Bran!”  Sansa exclaimed.  

His eyebrows shot up, “What?!  It wasn’t mine.”  

“Oh god,” Sansa rested her face in her hands.

Petyr thought he’d try to help, “Bran, it’s awkward screwing a woman that’s pregnant with another man’s child.”

Bran nodded, “Yeah, I get that _now._ ”  

Sansa’s hands dropped and she looked up at him incredulously.  Petyr sighed and grabbed a piece of toast off the table.  Bran’s hands flew up defensively, “Look, she _got_ me, okay?  I was too fucking high to care that she was knocked up.  She listened and was there for me, and we’d get high together and fuck until we fell asleep.  Best sex I’ve ever had, to be honest.  And if we’re being all cards on the table about this shit, it was probably the most seriously relationship I’ve ever had.”  

Petyr completely understood what he meant about the best sex part, as he thought of how Sansa felt.  Sansa, on the other hand, was clearly not thinking about the sex as she sighed.  She put on her most compassionate voice as she asked, “How did it end?”  

Bran took a drink of some orange juice, “She ran out of drugs, and then I just ran.”  

“Nice.”  Sansa shook her head, “Real nice, Bran.”  

Petyr looked down at his empty coffee cup, disappointed that the Stark family dynamic hadn’t drastically changed for the better.  Before he stood up to fill it, Bran appealed to her.  “No.  It wasn’t.  I was a fucking shit.  And I’m trying not to be, Sis.”

There was silence for a moment before Sansa nodded and started eating again.  Petyr felt proud of his wife and her willingness to finally give her brother a little leeway.  

Bran asked, “So, what are you going to name the little dude?”  

Sansa looked over at Petyr as she spoke, “We haven’t decided yet.  Any suggestions?”  

Bran chuckled, “Brando.  Totally.  Marlon Brando was badass.  And I’m not that bad, am I?”  

Sansa eyed him for a long moment before she let a small smile form, “No, you’re not.”  She took a sip of her coffee and grimaced, before asking if he had suggestions for if it was a girl.

Bran stood firm, “Bowie.  What?  David Bowie was fucking classy, and he liked to rock a chick look from time to time anyway.”  

At the memory of the family moment they had shared, Petyr smiled against Sansa’s belly.  Sansa’s fingers massaging his scalp had been heavenly and he was in a full state of relaxation when he noticed a gentle bump into his cheek.  Sansa must have shifted her weight, nudging her belly further into his face.  He rubbed his face into her more, affectionately, as he rested his palms on her thighs.  

The warm water rinsing his hair was something he felt daily, but somehow, on this day, it was better because it was done by her.  Petyr sighed happily at being taken care of so intimately by his wife.  He felt her belly push into him again and his eyes slowly opened in gradual realization.  It was the baby!  

Petyr’s head shot up, looking straight ahead at the belly in front of him.  He barely heard Sansa’s voice laugh down to him, “You felt that?”  

Distracted, Petyr smiled back to her, “Yes.”  

Unable to stop himself, he raised his hand to rub the spot that had kicked him as Sansa spoke, “It’s been getting stronger and stronger.”  

Petyr was rendered speechless and could only nod his agreement.  Of course it was getting stronger.  It would.  Logic, research, and thousands of years of human evolution dictated that it would.  That didn’t make it any less surprising when it literally kicked him in the face.  

Sansa chuckled at him and moved his hand by her belly button.  Petyr gasped and then let a soft laugh escape at the feel of the baby kick against his palm.  Feeling completely mystified, Petyr extended his arm up towards Sansa.  As she bent over, he clasped his hand around the back of her neck and brought her forehead to his.  Petyr held her there, as his other hand gripped her belly, “This is everything.”  

Sansa leaned in and met his lips with hers.  Petyr offered their familiar kiss, but was surprised to feel Sansa bend even lower and deepen their kiss.  When she broke away, Petyr opened his eyes and saw her crouched before him.  She leaned in and placed a gentle kissed on his cock, creating a tingle of awareness.  Petyr remembered the bedroom and her lack of orgasm and shook his head, “Oh, no.  You don’t--”  

Sansa laughed, “Shh.”  

Petyr was about to protest when she rested her palms on his knees and licked the length of him.  She started at his tip and ran her tongue up to the base.  When she gently bit at his pubic bone, a shiver ran through his body, “Sansa--”  

She lifted her head and smiled as she saw his cock grow in front of her, “It’s your birthday, and you’ve got me.  No responsibilities.  No worries.  Just me.  Don’t make me beg to suck your cock.”  

Petyr tilted his head down at her in disbelief.  She then lowered her tongue to his tip as she looked up at him.  Sansa smiled, cupping and rubbing the very end with her tongue.  Petyr felt his grip on her neck tightening.  He took a sharp breath at the gentle sucking on just the head.  She pulled her lips away just long enough to say, “Unless you want me to.”  

 _Beg for my dick?  Oh, fuck.  My naughty, naughty wife._  Petyr grinned down at her.  She had offered herself to him as present and she truly was a gift.  He was about to answer her when she lunged forward taking all of him in her mouth.  Petyr’s hands flew to either side of him as his ass picked up in surprise. He was thankful her palms held his knees down.  

Petyr gasped for air as she worked the length of him.  He felt her hands gently massage his balls and he looked down at her.  Her hair looked a dark crimson, wet from the shower, her creamy skin the perfect contrast.  Every now and then her eyes would open and he’d stare into the cerulean pools that smiled back at him.  Petyr couldn’t help but watch her lips circle his dick, making it disappear and reappear with each movement.  Petyr closed his eyes and reached for a bottle of shampoo beside him.  Trying not to cum too quickly, he squirted a small amount in his palm and noted the cool feeling of it in the hot shower.  He reached forward and rubbed the soap into Sansa’s hair as her head bobbed back and forth.  

Her eyes opened and she smiled at him, mouth still full.  Petyr gently dug his fingers in her scalp, massaging the soap in as he spoke down to her, “You are wonderful.  And all mine.”  

He felt her nod her head in affirmation as she picked up speed.  Petyr let his fingers dig into her hair more as the intensity of her attention brought him to the edge of reason.  He knew she would gulp him down as she had a thousand times, but he still felt the need to warn her.

“Ssssaaaann--”  He hissed through clenched teeth, every muscle going rigid in his body.  Sansa pushed him further into her mouth and drank him as quickly as he came.  Petyr reeled from the sensations he had just felt as Sansa slowly stood and leaned back, rinsing all the soap out of her hair.  

Petyr stood up and gathered her in his arms.  He spoke into her shoulder before kissing it, “I still owe you.”  

Sansa laughed, “Who’s birthday is it?”  

Petyr pushed his face against hers and sighed, “I think you underestimate how amazing it is to watch you cum.”  

Sansa rubbed his cheek, “There is no time.”  

“No time?”  Petyr’s head pulled away from hers and his eyes narrowed in suspicion.  “I thought we had the whole day together.”  

“We do.  And we have plans for part of it.”  She leaned over and kissed his lips, “Get dressed, I’m taking you somewhere.”  

Now Petyr was intrigued.  He allowed Sansa to finish washing them both, and reveled in her attention.  When they left the bathroom, Sansa was quick to start pulling clothes out for them both.  The blinking light on Sansa’s phone did not escape Petyr’s notice as he wished he knew what was going on.  Sansa hadn’t missed the notification either because she was quick to pick it up, sighing as she texted back.  

“Everything okay?”  Petyr asked, curiosity killing him.  

Sansa grinned, “Of course.  It’s under control.”  

Petyr sighed as he buckled his pants.  Sansa slid a purple dress on and motioned for him to zip her up.  Petyr pulled a sweater on as he walked over to her and grasped the zipper.  He kissed her shoulder in the mirror as he zipped her up, realizing it was the same dress she had bought when she was out with Cersei.  Unable to resist, he brought his hands down and cupped her breasts, offering a gentle squeeze as he silently thought, _Mine._

As Sansa watched him, she brought her hand back to his thigh and gave him a quick squeeze before saying, “Petyr, we can fuck for the rest of our lives.  But right now, I need you to get your ass in the car.”  

Petyr laughed and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close to him in one firm squeeze before he let go and followed her lead out the door.  She motioned for him to drive and told him that she would tell him which way to go as she continued to text back on the phone.  They got in the car and she grinned in excitement, “I can’t wait for this.”  

“Oh?”  Petyr asked, hoping she would give some hint.  It was supposed to be his present but she was the one saying that she couldn’t wait?  This had to be good.  

“Yeah.”  She bit her lip, her eyes ablaze.  

Petyr felt his own cheeks dimpling as he glanced at her from the road, “ _That_ good?”

She nodded, keeping quiet as she motioned for him to turn again.  It wasn’t long before she told him to turn into a parking garage.  As they got out and headed towards the exit, he saw all sorts of signs for various medical offices.  Then his eyes landed on one that said, “Northeast Radiology Associates.”  

Petyr turned to her and she nodded as she spoke, “We’re going to see our baby today.”  

“On my birthday.  On a Saturday.”  Petyr gaped at her, “Seriously?”  

Sansa smiled and nudged him toward the door.  Petyr looked back at her, barely aware of his feet moving, “Do I want to know how you made this happen?”  

Sansa opened the door and nudged him through it, “No.  You don’t.”  

Petyr cocked an eyebrow at her in question and she leaned over kissing his cheek and said, “Lots of people are willing to work the weekend for the Baelishes.”

Petyr reached over and gave her belly a rub, “Our child is already making people for work it.”  

Sansa smirked and put her hand over his, “Aren’t you proud?”  

“Beyond.”  His answer was so automatic, she had barely finished the question.  Petyr looked around at the dark waiting room and the empty receptionist desk and felt a twinge of disappointment, perhaps things weren’t going to work out.  

Then he heard a man’s voice to the left of him say, “Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Baelish.”

Petyr followed, gripping Sansa tightly to him.  Panic hit him as he realized how reckless this was.  They had come there just the two of them, there was no protection in place.  They were unarmed and following this stranger in an empty office, down a hallway on blind faith.  Were they being lead to their execution?  Had another family learned of Sansa’s surprise and decided to take the opportunity to eliminate them?  He glanced over at Sansa and felt regret.  This was her present to him, and he appreciated the thought, but realized that she may not have seen the potential danger.  

He was relieved to find an empty room with a johnny and a sheet folded on the bed.  No enemies.  No hitmen waiting in the shadows.  The technician told Sansa to change and he would be back.  As soon as the door clicked shut, Sansa turned on Petyr, “What’s the matter?”  

Determined not to ruin things, he shook his head, “Nothing.”

She took her dress off and slipped the hospital gown on, “Not nothing.  You’re worried too aren’t you?”  

“Worried?”  He stood at attention.  What was she worried about?

“Yeah, about the baby.”  She looked back at him.  

“What about the baby?”  Petyr was baffled that she would worry about the baby; she was twenty weeks along now, halfway through the pregnancy.  The baby was moving and kicking and only getting stronger.  

She shrugged nervously, “What if it has Downs?  Or something worse?”  

“What?”  Petyr shook his head, “No, our baby doesn’t have Downs.  Why would you think that?”  

“Maybe it’s because I did a couple of lines of coke and downed a forty while we were making it.”  Sansa’s temper flared in her defensiveness.  

Right.  There was that.  Petyr inhaled slowly through his nostrils as he reached for her, gathering her in his arms.  He brought her head down and kissed the top of it, “It doesn’t matter.  It’s alive, and strong, and ours.”  

Sansa sighed into him, “If it is _disabled_ , I’ll murder anyone who says anything about it.”  

“I know.”  Petyr kissed her again.  He didn’t doubt that she would too, indiscriminately.    

Sansa pulled her head back and her glassy eyes met his, “I’m so sorry.  I never should have--”

Petyr cut her off with a kiss.  He felt her breath catch as he deepened his kiss.  When he pulled away, he watched her eyes slowly blink open and he spoke, “I’m glad you did.  If _we_ hadn’t been reckless, we wouldn’t have this now.”  

Sansa nodded and then after a pause scrunched her eyebrows, “If it wasn’t this, what were you worried about?”  

Petyr sighed, knowing it best to just tell her, “This isn’t safe.  We don’t have any men here.”  

Sansa blinked back at him and he instantly regretted critiquing her.  Unexpectedly, she broke out into a toothy grin, “You never stop do you, Petyr?”  

He slowly shook his head, “No.”  Then he pushed further, “And not knowing what you and Varys are messaging back and forth is driving me crazy.”  

Sansa chuckled and reached for her phone, placing it in his hand, “He’s telling me that Stannis wants details for when the bust will happen, he doesn’t trust Tyrion.  He wants to confirm with you.  I told Varys to verify that he was still watching Margaery, and if he was, you would consider meeting with him.”  

Petyr grinned, “I would have met with him anyway.  It’s just good business to make sure everyone’s on the same page that should be.”  

“I know.”  Sansa grinned, “But I thought it best to extort a little more.  He told Varys what we already knew, that Margaery was out last night at the Rose Room with Joffery.”  Her voice got firmer as she added, “And Bran.”  

Petyr knew she didn’t like the idea of Bran around Joffery, but didn’t dare think of how she felt about him around Margaery.  Sansa seemed to have a severe distaste for Margaery, more so than anyone else he’d ever seen Sansa dislike.  It rivaled the amount of loathing she had for the Hound.  He listened to her continue, “Margaery left with Joffery and we both know Bran came home alone.”  

 _Thankfully_ , Petyr thought to himself.  With Sansa’s growing protectiveness for her brother, Petyr shuddered to think what she would do to Margaery if she ever seduced Bran the way she was Joffery.  He was about to redirect her attention to the danger around them when she finished, “And just so you are aware, just because you don’t see people, that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.  There’s a man on each exit, and Jon ran through the office, checking first.”  

“Jon?”  Petyr looked back at her amused.

Sansa smiled, “Yes.  One of the messages I checked in the car was the, ‘all clear.’  And he’s here now, just not right here in this room.  He didn’t want to ‘impose on our privacy.’  His took-forever-to-spell-out-words, not mine.”  

Petyr hugged her close, “You never stop amazing me.”  

“Good!”  Sansa laughed.  

There was a gentle knock on the door and Sansa told the technician to come in.  She kissed Petyr’s cheek and then sat on the bed.  The technician opened up the sheet and laid it across her lap, instructing her to lift her gown up and use the sheet to preserve her modesty.  Laying back with only her belly exposed, Petyr watched the technician put clear jelly on the wand and bring it down to her belly.  A fuzzy black and white image hit the screen and Petyr started squinting trying to make out limbs.  

He knew that in this week, with the baby the size of a banana, they could tell the gender--if Sansa would let them.  She said she didn’t want to know, and Petyr played along, hoping to slowly work on convincing her otherwise.  He knew he should respect her wishes but he itched to know so badly that it was worth a little nudging.  He would have too, if she didn’t catch him off guard like this.  He knew now that he wouldn’t have enough time to try to make his case, to let her be swayed by his point of view.  This was their chance to find out and it was passing them by as they stared at their baby turning and kicking.  

 _The hell it is_ , Petyr found new determination.  He remembered reading that if the child had three white lines between its legs it was a girl, and if it didn’t, it was a boy.  He proudly thought there would be something else that would tell him it wasn’t a girl, not just the absence of white lines.  He respected that Sansa didn’t want to know, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t know.  His eyes scanned the screen in front of him as he tried to determine the gender of their child.  

The technician told them the baby’s estimated length and weight, all healthy from what Petyr had read.  The technician spent a considerable amount of time around the child’s head and Petyr heard Sansa’s timid voice ask, “Is it alright?  Everything looking okay?”  

The technician smiled and nodded, “I’m not supposed to say anything, but I feel like the rules have been thrown out the window.  Your baby is just fine.  Healthy and strong.  I can’t see a thing wrong.”  

Petyr’s grin almost touched his ears as he grabbed Sansa’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her in his joy.  She breathed easy, finally allowing the air she had been holding to escape her lungs.  He was holding her hand against his cheek when the technician asked, “I can tell you the gender if you like.”  

Petyr sighed and kissed her hand before saying, “We don’t want to know.”  

Sansa laughed at him and nodded at the technician.  The man looked down and started writing on the cart.  Sansa stared into Petyr’s eyes, “Happy Birthday, Petyr.”  

Petyr looked back at her, surprised by the sudden sincerity in her words, “Thank you.”

The technician reached across Sansa’s belly, and handed Petyr an envelope with a bow on it.  Petyr looked down at it and then back at Sansa, incredulously.  She smiled, “I don’t want to know.  But you do.  I’m giving you this one secret to keep from me.”  

Petyr blinked, “Are you sure?”  

“Absolutely.”  She brought their linked hands towards her lips and she pressed a reassuring kiss to his palm.  When she let go, Petyr opened the envelope and felt his heart stop beating as he slowly slid the small paper out, ink coming into view.  Petyr quickly glanced back up at her.  Sansa laughed and nodded her reassurance.  Petyr felt his palms sweat as the single word that told him so much and yet still so little about his child came into view: _Girl._


	22. Enough Already

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fucking him for information just makes sense.

Cersei’s face lit the home screen on Sansa’s phone.  Knowing she was going to have to put up with a certain amount of drama, Sansa reluctantly answered the call and plastered on a fake smile, “Hello.” 

“I’m offended,” Cersei pouted. 

“I’m proud of you for using your words.”  Sansa praised her with a healthy level of sarcasm.  

Cersei huffed, “Well, I have been getting better at that.  But that’s beside the point.  Our men are golfing and we’re supposed to be at the spa.”  

Sansa sighed, “I know.  But I told you I needed to take Bran to the mall to buy him some new clothes.”  

“The mall.  Eww.  I thought you loved your brother.”  Cersei judged through the phone.  

Sansa looked over at Bran, sitting on one side of her digging into a dish of nachos.  He was trying to say the least, truly the definition of unreliable and chaotic.  But he was her little brother all the same, and she would see him taken care of.  For the briefest of moments, she wanted to show Cersei the mistake she made in suggesting otherwise, but remembered it best to temper her emotion.  The Lannister was always fueled by intense emotional responses, and Sansa was able to maintain a safe friendship with her by consistently appearing un-phased.  She decided to redirect her, “Stop pouting and go do something with Myrcella.”   

Cersei gasped, “Are you telling me I’m a bad mother?  That I don’t spend enough time with my daughter?”

Sansa chuckled, “If that’s what it takes to get you off the phone.”  

“ _ Fine _ ,”  Cersei spat and Sansa could hear her take a drink before saying, “Enjoy  _ family _ day.”  

Sansa would have offered to make it up to her, but knew not to give anything extra with Cersei; it would be considered a display of submission.  She was about to respond appropriately when she realized Cersei hung up on her.  

Sansa laughed and texted,  _ whore. _  Almost instantly, she got a kissy face emoji back in response.  Sansa smirked and glanced up to see Jon staring back at her.  She shrugged her shoulders at him and he subtly signed that he would never understand her relationship with Cersei.  There were times that neither did Sansa.  

The food court in the mall was loud and busy, but the sunlight shining in from the skylights made it more bearable.  Before Cersei called, it was nice being with just Bran and Jon.  Sansa knew that Arya would be coming soon with Shae, and things would get down to business.  The private investigator said that she had some more information on the Tyrells.  The guise of being a friend of Arya’s was plausible enough, especially if they all met in a group.  

Jon had suggested the mall and both Sansa and Arya rolled their eyes with how transparent he was being.  Bran had no idea what was going on but heard the word,  _ mall,  _ and wanted to tag along.  Sansa looked him up and down and decided that he probably needed new clothes anyway.  When Bran was a minor, he received a monthly stipend of the inheritance money from their parents; a stipend that he always blew through in the first few days.  Once he became an adult, the money was no longer managed for him and Bran was flying through it.  

Luckily Petyr stepped in, he went to the bank and arranged to have the money transferred into an account that Bran did not have access to.  Sansa had no idea how her husband had done it, and she never asked.  It was illegal to say the least, and just not done, especially by someone with no right to the finances, but it needed to happen and Petyr made it so.  

Petyr always had a way with banks and money.  As his influence increased, so had his ability to maneuver around legitimate establishments become more refined.  Petyr had saved Bran’s money right before he shipped him to rehab.  Sansa felt herself swoon over her husband’s certainty and power, and found herself texting a quick message to tell him so,  _ It feels good to fuck the most powerful man in the city.   _

“Hey Sis, Jon,” Arya appeared out of nowhere with Gendry and her  _ friend,  _ Shae.  Arya plopped down in an empty seat and slowly turned her head to acknowledge her brother, “Bran-Flakes.”  

Gendry slid a chair over for Shae and Sansa was surprised at the amount of people gathered around the little metal food court table.   _ This isn’t inconspicuous, _ she thought to herself.  She looked over to Jon for support, but found he was too busy trying not to be noticed as he gazed through some plants to the sporting goods store.  

Gendry smacked Jon in the arm, “Good to see ya, man.”  

Jon’s eyes darted over, guilty, as if caught doing something horribly wrong, and then slowly smiled in realization.  Arya teased, “He didn’t see you, Gen.  Your tits aren’t big enough.”  

Gen laughed and then puffed up his chest, “Really?  I’ve been working on my pecs.”  

Sansa laughed politely and then looked over to find Bran sitting quietly, uncomfortably.  Was it Gendry?  Or was it the presence of Shae, sitting silently with an uneasy smile and shifty eyes?  

Arya noticed it too because she spoke up suddenly, “You’ve never met Gendry, have you?”  

Bran smiled and shook his head, “Nah.” 

Gendry held his hand out, “How are ya?” 

Bran shook his hand, “Good, yeah.  How long you and Aerie been a thing?”  

As if a switch had been flipped, Arya suddenly scowled, “You’d know if you weren’t always too fucked up to care.”  

“ _ Arya _ ,” Sansa surprised herself with the intensity of warning in her tone.  

Arya’s head snapped back to Sansa, “What?!  I’m not allowed to let him know how he affects shit?  I gotta walk around on eggshells not saying what’s in front of everyone’s face?”  

Sansa rosed slowly from her chair, towering over her as she pursed her lips and spoke, “This is not the time or place.”  

Arya laughed sarcastically, “Oh, sorry!  I forgot, this is a business meeting.  That’s what’s really important.  Not the family, or even the goddamn frozen yogurt.”  

Bran stood up, pleading with Arya, “I’m sorry, Aerie.”

Arya swung around, ignoring Gendry tugging at her arm to calm down and regain her senses.   Jon slowly rose to the other side and pleaded with her to stop too.  As if no longer in control of herself, she barked, “Don’t call me that!  I haven’t been Aerie to you in a long time.”  

Sansa realized it was the nickname that had triggered Arya’s venomous response.  Judging by the way she barely acknowledged him when she sat down, Sansa figured that any control Arya had originally was minimal.  When Bran used his nickname for her, she had lost it.  Bran forced a light playful voice as he offered across the table, “You still call me Bran-flakes…”  

Just as Sansa was about to interject, Arya took a deep breath and leaned in as she hissed, “I call you Bran-flakes because you  _ regularly _ take the shit out of people.”  

Bran stood wounded, blinking back.  Sansa instantly felt for him as she grabbed Arya’s arm and commanded, “That’s enough!”  

Their little party stood silent for a moment, all but Shae, who remained seated.  After a long pause, Bran spoke, “You got it right.  I’m a fucked up waste of skin who did shitty things to good people.  I got high all the time, and didn’t give a fuck about anything or anyone.  But I do now.  I’m sorry, Aerie--Arya.”  Bran had been staring her directly in the eye, but took it a step further and leaned over the table as he clarified, “Sorry, I meant,  _ Arya.”   _

Sansa had never heard him speak so honestly and eloquently before.  For the blink of a moment, she saw the little boy that was constantly tagging along behind her and Arya, begging to be included.  She didn’t know if it was the hormones or the unexpected memory that glassed her eyes and made her blink away the wetness, but she looked over at Arya and was ready to throttle her if she hurt him.  

Arya stared back at him in silence, her chest heaving in emotion before her voice broke, “I gave you two black eyes.”  She held up two fingers for emphasis, “Not one, but two.”  Her voice wavered as she continued, “My  _ little  _ brother.”  

Everyone froze, gaping at the emotion Arya never showed anyone.  Sansa glanced over to Bran’s pained expression and worried that this all might be too much for him, too much for any of them.  Arya cleared her throat, “Do you know how fucked up that is?  I was willing to do anything to reach you.  And I just fucking couldn’t get through.”  

A single tear rolled down her cheek, over her quivering lips.  Sansa had barely blinked before Bran flew to Arya, grabbing her into a desperate hug, “I’m so sorry.”  

Arya gasped over his shoulder, “I was supposed to protect you.” 

Sansa drew a long breath, reigning in her emotion as she thought,  _ I know the feeling.   _

A quiet voice spoke from below, “People are starting to stare.”  

It was Shae, surveying their surroundings for them.  Arya and Bran slowly let go of each other and Gendry leaned over, placing a kiss on the top of Arya’s head before mussing up her hair.  

He smiled across the table at Bran and joked, “I don’t know why she’s so upset.  It isn’t a get-together in my family without at least one black eye.”  

Bran spit a little at the unexpected laugh Gendry pulled out if him.  He shook his head, trying to play back, “Some people, huh?”  

Sansa noticed the way his eyes flashed back to Arya to see if she would allow the jesting or if she would become offended again.  She smiled warmly at him, for probably the first time in a long time.  Gendry coughed and held Sansa’s chair out for her, “You’re knocked up, so you should sit down.”  

Sansa gave him an amused look as she watched him make a scene of pulling Arya’s chair out for her.  Arya rolled her eyes at him as she plopped down and Sansa knew from the dimples on her cheeks that she was in love with him.  Personally, Sansa didn’t understand.  It was only last October that Arya was telling them how he had screwed some girl on the road.  Looking at them together now, no one would know it.  They also wouldn’t know that Arya had been screwing someone else, repeatedly, for years.  Sansa reminded herself,  _ to each their own. _

Gendry smiled at Bran and said, “Now that the dust has settled, there’s a decent arcade down that way, wanna go shoot things?” 

Sansa noticed Bran instinctively drop his hand to his belt and she realized he was packing.  She felt an odd sense of pride that her little brother had not only retained some of her parents teachings, but was aware enough of the world they were living in that he would dress accordingly.  Bran smiled back sheepishly, “No doubt.”  

Bran stood to join him and Gendry smacked Jon on the arm as he said, “You coming?”

Jon glanced back at the sporting goods store and Arya laughed, “She’ll be here when you get back, Romeo.”  

Jon looked at Sansa questioningly.  His eyes asked her if he should leave.  Sansa rubbed her belly, the baby was a flurry of movement from all the excitement.  Petyr would be upset with her if she let her bodyguard leave her in the middle of a crowded mall.  Sansa shook her head no and Arya raised an eyebrow.  Sansa held up her hand to stifle her sister, “Jon’s working this visit.”  

“Shitty.  Next time.”  Gendry offered and then left for the arcade with Bran.  Jon turned back in his chair, staring off between the plants.  

Arya spoke first, “Bummer Jon couldn’t have some fun.  He is family, after all.” 

Sansa glared at her, “ _ Bummer _ you had to be so hard on Bran.  He is in recovery,  _ after all.”   _

Arya pointed at the table, “That needed to happen.  Fuck you if you can’t get that.”  

Sansa felt her fists clench in frustration when Shae dropped an envelope on the table, refusing to allow more Stark family drama to impede her work.  Shae got right to the point, “These are phone records.”  

Sansa zeroed in on the envelope, “Margaery’s?”  

Shae shook her head, “No.  The old lady’s.  Olenna.”  

_ Apparently she can still work a phone in her senility _ , Sansa thought before asking, “Anything stick out?”

Shae pulled papers out of the envelope, “It’s mostly just calls to her granddaughter.  But there are some overseas calls.  I highlighted them.”  

Sansa scanned the paper for the highlighted lines and the dates beside them, they looked familiar.  She pulled her phone out to check her calendar, but first read Petyr’s response across her screen,  _ And it feels splendid to sink my cock in perfection.   _ Sansa felt herself blush a little at the unexpected passion from her husband, and quickly minimized the message and opened her calendar.  She confirmed what she had suspected; all of the highlighted calls occurred a few days before the early Tyrell shipments.  

Sansa found herself playing with the bracelet around her wrist as she thought, opening and closing the locket on it.  Whenever she did, she thought of Petyr and the warmth he radiated when he gave it to her.  She loved the way he looked at her, how he wanted her.  Now, with the baby, he was so much softer, more gentler with her.  He was always holding her, rubbing her back, and kissing the top of her head.  His hands never left her belly whenever they were together, trying to feel the baby kick.  And she cherished every minute of it, even if she did at times, miss when he was more lustful than doting.  

Sansa sighed looking down at the papers, and wondered if this was the Sons of the Harpy number or if this was a different player.  Petyr would know, he was the one who handled direct communication with the Sons, as no one else could cajole the foreigners the way he could.  Sansa felt a tingle of appreciation for her husband’s skills; Petyr always knew just what to do, and what things meant.  

She had been accessing Shae’s services because Stannis’ info was shoddy at best and she had only recently discovered that Varys was also on the job.  She would have been annoyed at Petyr for not cluing her in, but she realized very quickly that he wasn’t aware either.  

One night, Sansa had gone to the storage room at Unveiled to peep through Petyr’s two-way mirror at Bran and Joffery.  She didn’t like that kid around her brother.  The Lannister was only a few years younger than her, but his immaturity coupled with the fact that Sansa associated equally with his mother, made her consider him still a kid.  

Petyr didn’t mind when Joffery came by because he always spent a lot of dough on the girls, but Sansa always got a strange feeling from him and told Petyr so.  He assured her that Joffery wouldn’t dare do anything in one of the clubs.  It would be a declaration of war amongst the families.  He also guessed that Joffery may not be by as much now that he and Margaery were back together, even if only secretly.  Sansa hoped so, but so far was not feeling very convinced, as Joffery still made his appearances.  

When Sansa walked into the storeroom, she was startled to find a man, bare-chested, sitting on a box, wearing an expression of sheer ecstasy.  She was embarrassed to say that she stood for a moment longer than she should staring at the man, eyes clamped shut, face turned to the ceiling as he breathed through his orgasm.  Sansa couldn’t see his lap, obscured by some boxes, and figured he was jerking off.  She was about to close the door and leave when she saw none other than Varys rise from behind the boxes.  He turned to face her, lips glistening and eyes wide in surprise.  Sansa froze, completely taken off guard.  

Varys took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his mouth clean before leaning over and kissing the man on the cheek, “Best you run along now, Olyvar.”  

He was considerably younger than Varys, way more fit, and had a full head of hair--blonde.  Sansa figured Varys must have some sort of leverage on the man, to have bagged someone so many more leagues above him.  Olyvar pulled his shirt down over his chest and hopped down off the box, buckling his pants as he grinned at Varys and confirmed, “You coming over tonight?”  

Varys smiled and nodded, and waved goodbye as Olyvar walked past Sansa, dipping his head to her.  Sansa offered a non-committal smile back and then turned to Varys, walking into the storeroom completely, and shutting the door behind her, “I thought you loved Petyr?”  

Varys winced, “And Olyvar thinks I’m falling in love with him.  Isn’t love complicated?”  

Sansa cocked an eyebrow in doubt.  Love did not feel complicated with Petyr, it was pretty straight-forward, actually.  She decided to push, “Not really.  But maybe there’s more to the story?”  

Varys sighed, “I’m fucking Olyvar to get info on the Tyrells.”  

Sansa’s mouth dropped, “Petyr never mentioned putting you on this.”  Varys stared back at her unmoved.  The wheels started turning in Sansa’s brain as she realized something, “He didn’t put you on this.  He couldn’t have, because he doesn’t know you’re gay.”  

Varys offered a pained smile and put his hands in his pockets, “No, Petyr doesn’t know about my-- _ initiative.” _

“They why would you…?”  Sansa started to ask in curiosity but trailed off as Varys stared back at her in a practiced smile.  

He shrugged, “Loras and Renly sometimes enjoy a third in their bed.  More often than not, that third is Olyvar.  Fucking him for information just makes sense.”  

Sansa laughed incredulously, “You would whore yourself out for info like one of Petyr’s girls?”  

Varys smirked and shook his head, “I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re all one of Petyr’s girls, just in different ways.  And Olyvar’s physique isn’t exactly a hardship one has to suffer through.”  

Sansa wondered if he was moving on, but dispelled the thought.  A person didn’t devote themselves to another for years the way that Varys had just to develop feelings for a hot blonde in a stockroom.  But still, he volunteered himself for this mission, and seemed to be enjoying it well enough.  If Olyvar’s response was worth anything, it definitely told the story of two happy men who’d had more than a few encounters and were looking forward to more.  Sansa rubbed her belly and told herself the baby was making her sentimental.  

Varys leveled with her, “We both have reason to hate the Tyrells and wish for their downfall.  Petyr’s upset at being fooled by Margaery, and would see retribution if possible.  But he has always had a bigger picture in his mind.  He would allow her and the whole family go unpunished if it were good for business.”  

Sansa considered Varys’ words.  She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, he didn’t see Petyr’s face the day he fucked her against his car, declaring he would make Margaery pay for her trick.  Margaery was pure filth.  Surely Petyr felt that way too?  Sansa remembered vowing to help hunt her down and exact revenge, but Petyr had told her no.  Petyr was the one who said that he wanted to wait and see what her game was.   _ Years _ had passed.  Sansa knew that her husband was not one to offer empty threats, yet here things remained.

In fairness, life had happened.  Years had passed with Margaery far off in the periphery.  Petyr had been kidnapped, gutted, stitched back to life, and on the mend.  Their marriage was still so new and developing, and now  _ expanding. _  That in and of itself was a lot.  It felt as though the morning Petyr pounced her in their kitchen and stated that they should “let whatever happens, happen” was a lifetime ago.  

Business had been good with the Tyrells all this time.  The boys weren’t the brightest, but they hadn’t tried to screw them over and the money kept flowing.  Petyr was often willing to overlook things for the sake of business, perhaps he was letting this grudge go.  Sansa felt her skin heat as she considered years of partnership with the Tyrells.  She pictured Margaery wearing her slutty dresses, flouncing around Petyr.  She would tease them both about the trick she played on him, and dig at Sansa with her intimate knowledge of her husband.  It would be worth it to Sansa to lose the business if the future didn’t hold Margaery-fucking-Tyrell.  She cleared her throat before speaking to Varys, “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.  Petyr is awfully passionate.”  

Varys sighed, “Yes.  Only when it comes to you.  Otherwise, the business comes first, always.  As long as the profits are good, Petyr won’t move against the Tyrells.  Unless of course, he is motivated to by you.”  

Sansa felt her back stiffen at the suggestion that she would control her husband in anyway, “I support Petyr’s decision.  Whatever it may be.”  

Varys chuckled, “You want Margaery dead.  It’s clear as a bell, written across your face.  I’ve been there.”  

Sansa stared back at him, “I respect Petyr’s decisions.”  

“Yes, you do.  Which is why you’ve been so controlled in front of her.  But the fact that he fucked her is eating at you.”  Varys drilled through her facade.  

“You don’t know that.  You don’t know they fucked.  It was years ago.”  Sansa snapped back at him.  

The bald man lowered his head and inhaled slowly.  When he looked up at her, his eyes held his sympathy.  “I am not trying to hurt you.  I just want to be direct about the fact that neither of us are fans of the Tyrells.  Until Petyr agrees that they are problematic too, I just want to be ready.”  

Sansa was realizing just how sneaky Varys was, mining for information, anticipating Petyr’s next desire, using his hidden agenda to benefit the Baelishes.  She had known the man was skilled, but it was that night in the storeroom that she truly appreciated his value, and his loyalty.  She looked up, “Varys, what do you have against the Tyrells?”  

“That depends on who’s asking,” Varys smiled and tilted his head.  

“I am.”  Sansa held her chin up, preparing herself for whatever answer the man would give her.  

“It wasn’t just Petyr that was fooled the night of the gala.  She got past me too.  I always vetted his girls.”  Varys’ mouth tightened and Sansa knew he was gritting his teeth.  

Petyr had never mentioned Varys’ part in things.  He could have easily laid blame at the man’s feet and tried to save face, but he didn’t.  Petyr took accountability.  Sansa looked back at Varys and realized just how much pain Varys had endured loving Petyr.  She knew that Varys had to stand on the sidelines while Petyr fell in love with her, and knew that before her, he watched as Petyr fucked countless women.  But she had not known that he actually had to research and pick and choose which women Petyr screwed.  Sansa could not imagine being able to stand by silently, devotedly, feeding Petyr random women to fuck.  Guilt was a cold emotion, a blue that soaked through the skin and froze your bones, leaving a person rigid and unsure how to move next.  For the first time, she was truly sorry for all the teasing and torturing she had done to him before they had called a truce.  

Her eyes softened towards him and she offered him silent sympathy.  Varys stiffened at the gesture.  Of course he would feel defensive at that.  He didn’t want her sympathy and, were she in his shoes, neither would she.  She hardened herself and simply asked him, “And if I were anyone else asking?”  

Varys relaxed, his body slackening as he smiled, “Their shipments are coming in earlier.  So far the money hasn’t been touched.  But the fact that their supplies have been earlier tells me that something is going on, and I don’t trust it.  I want us to be prepared.”  

Sansa considered Petyr; he had told her a few times before how it was troubling that the Tyrell shipments were coming in earlier.  This was not escaping Petyr’s notice, though he didn’t appear to be taking this as seriously as Varys was.  Perhaps the bald man in love with her husband was overreacting?  Petyr had asked her to keep Shae on the case, and he kept Stannis engaged to some degree.  Perhaps Petyr was taking this seriously, though remained calm to keep her from worrying.  She knew instantly that Petyr would have wanted to exploit Varys’ relationship with Olyvar, if he knew it was a possibility.  She looked back at Varys, knowing he would loathe an apology, “I appreciate what you are doing for him-- _ us. _ ” 

Varys gazed down at her belly and looked like he was going to say something, but stopped himself.  Sansa took a step towards him, “What?  What were you going to say?”  

Varys’ smile didn’t touch his eyes as he spoke, “It was foolish.  But I was going to ask if you minded if…”  

His words trailed off and he shook his head, taking a step forward to walk past her.  Sansa caught him mid-stride and grabbed his hand, placing it on her belly.  Varys eyes shot up to hers, his face holding the shock of touching a hot iron.  She offered him a welcoming smile and held his gaze, silently giving her encouragement.  Varys relaxed and allowed her to move his hand.  Sansa felt the baby kick and knew he did too when she saw the very corners of his mouth upturn to the smallest degree.  After a moment, she let go of him and he slowly retracted his hand, looking back at her unable to hide his happiness.  He gathered himself and awkwardly said, “You should start picking a pediatrician.”  

Sansa blinked back at him, realizing that for as orderly and prepared as Varys always appeared, this baby was taking him by surprise as well.  She smiled and nodded her head.  

As Varys was out the door, he tossed over his shoulder, “I’ll have a list of various providers in the area as well as a set of references for each by the end of the day tomorrow.”  She had barely gotten a thank you out before he had scurried down the hall.  

Sansa smiled at the memory of the odd encounter with the man that had proven to be a strong ally, and shoved the phone records that Shae provided back in the envelope.  

“Thank you,” Sansa placed the envelope in her bag and pulled her phone out to access their banking app and transferred the money into the account Shae had given before, “The money’s been transferred.”  

Shae nodded her head and was about to get up to leave when Arya put a hand on her arm, stopping her, “You can’t leave.  You’re posing as my friend.  We need to leave together.”  

Shae remained still, showing her frustration at being delayed.  Arya turned to Jon and smacked him on the arm to get his attention, “Seriously, talk to the woman.  It’s gotten weird.”  

Jon glared at her as she continued, “Next Sunday, wanna hit the range?”  

Jon paused and Sansa found herself hoping he would decline.  He didn’t decline, however, silently nodding his agreement.  Sansa found herself reaching down to her belly and giving it a rub as she thought,  _ I guess it’s just you, me, and Daddy on Sunday.   _

Arya reached over and gave Jon a hug, and then pulled back and sniffed the air audibly, “Is that Pina Colada?  What the fuck?”  

Sansa laughed, she could have sworn she smelled that before too.  Jon’s face got red as Arya laughed at him, “You fruity motherfucker.  Are you shopping in the women’s section again?”  

Jon’s hands flew up and he explained that it was just conditioner, that it kept his hair smooth.  He defensively explained that there was nothing wrong with wanting nice hair.  Arya kept laughing at him and gave Sansa a hug goodbye, “I’m gonna go, let Shae make her exit.  I’ll send Bran back your way when I get Gen.”  

Sansa smiled as she watched her and Shae walk away, “Take care of yourself.”  

Left with Jon, Sansa had allowed her frustration and anger with Arya from earlier pass as she followed his gaze to the sporting goods store.  Sansa rolled her eyes and exclaimed, “Seriously, Jon!  Enough already!”

She pushed her chair out and stood up, “If you aren’t going to talk to her, I will.”  

Jon shot out of his chair at the speed of lightning, shaking his head no.  Sansa ignored him and kept walking, only for him to run ahead to block her, his eyes pleading with her to turn around.  She planted her feet, unwilling to return to their table, “Give me one good reason why you won’t make a move.   _ Years _ you’ve been wanting this girl, and you haven’t done a thing about it.”  

Jon sighed and ran his fingers through his hair nervously before slowly working his hands to explain.  Sansa watched as his hands explained just what a loss a tongue is in a lover.  She looked down at the tile floor remorsefully, as she thought of all the things Petyr used his tongue for with her.  Finally fully understanding his trepidation, Sansa was about to turn around when she caught sight of the girl through the window.  She was looking back at them, no doubt noticing the commotion of them right outside the store door.  

Sansa pointed back at the store as she told Jon, “You have to go through with it, she is watching us.  I respect what you’re saying, but does that mean you can never be with anyone, ever?”  

Jon blinked and slowly turned around to face the pair of eyes watching him through the doorway.  He stood frozen in place and no amount of prompting from Sansa was moving him.  She gritted her teeth, “Fine.  I’ll go talk to her.”  

Jon didn’t argue this time or put up any fuss.  He was too busy staring back, transfixed on the woman.  Sansa held her belly as she walked past a flabbergasted Jon and to the woman in the polo shirt with the “assistant manager” badge.  

Sansa thrust her hand at the woman and smiled confidently as she spoke, “Hello, I’m Sansa.  And that broody looking gentleman over there, is my cousin Jon.”  

The object of Jon’s obsession stood silently.  She smiled, as if welcoming of the interaction, but did not engage.  Sansa looked down at her name tag and read,  _ Ygritte. _

Sansa tried not to roll her eyes as she thought,  _ Seriously?  That’s not a misspelling?   _ She continued, “He’s had a crush on you for a bit, and lacks the courage to approach you.”  

Ygritte blinked back, looking over a Jon.  Sansa felt irritation tickling her as she realized the woman still wasn’t talking.  Sansa decided to ask her a question, “Cute, isn’t he?”  

Sansa waited for a response, and was slightly disappointed to find that Ygritte simply nodded her head.   _ That’s it?!  I tell this woman, he has a crush on her, and she just smiles and nods? _  Sansa was starting to rethink this whole thing.  She glanced back at Jon who was as white as a ghost, realizing how poorly things were going.  Sansa knew she couldn’t leave things like that so she sighed and persevered, “Jon’s shy because he doesn’t talk.”  

Ygritte’s smile faded as she appeared to be trying to understand.  Sansa leaned in, “Jon can’t speak, actually.”  Sansa held up her hands and began to sign as she spoke, “He communicates through ASL.”  

At the bottom of Sansa’s periphery, she saw Ygritte’s hands moving.  Low and behold, the sporting goods store hottie that her cousin had been scoping out for years spoke ASL as well.  Sansa watched as her hands explained that she was deaf and that he needn’t be shy as she’d been noticing him for a while too.  Sansa spun around to see Jon suddenly right behind her, grinning from ear to ear.  As if pulled by gravity, Jon stood closer to Ygritte.  Sansa felt the electricity in the air as their smiles teased each other.  

Both of their hands moved, telling each other how long they had noticed each other.  Sansa recognized her third wheel status and slowly backed away.  She looked down at her belly and gave it another rub,  _ Now it really is just us. _

As she walked back to her table, she saw Bran, holding his thumbs up.  He must have seen Jon and Ygritte talking behind her.  She thought to herself and the baby within,  _ Nevermind, we still have Uncle Bran around. _


	23. Have A Seat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr popped a mint in his mouth, “You wanted to attract the attention of a powerful man? Well, you got it. Show me your best.”

_You are twenty-four weeks pregnant today!  Your baby is now the length of an ear of corn and is developing the little branches of the respiratory tree.  Between now and week twenty-eight, it’s important for you to get a glucose screening test to make sure you don’t have Gestational Diabetes while your baby is developing it’s lung capacity!_

Petyr set his phone in his pocket and thought about the notification, _Could Sansa have Gestational Diabetes?_  She was thin and healthy, but she did enjoy iced lemon loaf from Highgarden, probably too much.  He was glad to see that any weight she put on went straight to her belly, so this was probably just a pregnancy craving that would leave her when the baby did.  He smiled as he thought about how his daughter was developing, _That’s it, sweetheart, build up those lungs.  I want you breathing easy when I hold you._

He had been talking to her more and more in his head, each time he held his wife and rubbed her belly.  At first, it was very hard for him not to tell Sansa.  He wanted to share the news with her, as they shared everything.  But the greedy side of him actually preferred it this way.  

Sansa knew everything because it was her body that held their child.  He was someone on the sidelines: a cheerleader.  He followed along from the app and paid close attention to his wife and her preferences, thinking that may somehow give him more information about the baby as well.  But it wasn’t the same.  

Knowing that it was a girl helped him feel closer.  He could picture his child so much more now, and it was easier for him to talk to her, even if it was just in his mind.  Sansa would of course talk to it out loud whenever they were alone and he worked hard not to say anything, for fear of letting the secret she allowed him to slip.

Petyr smiled as he thought about his wife and child and the life that he was building.  It was so different from the life he thought he would have prior to meeting Sansa.  How his five year plan had changed.  He shook his head as he walked down the hall to his office and told himself to focus on business for a moment.  It was vital that he made sure everything was in place for the next week.  They were taking out a major head--well, a major head’s spouse.  Same difference, really.  Petyr knew that should the roles be reversed and it was Sansa that was removed, no one in a twenty mile radius, guilty or not, would survive his wrath.  

It would be an act of war to assassinate Renly, showing the world that anyone is fair game, no matter how high up the chain they are.  Everything needed to be just so.  He had orchestrated a major family deal to avoid any suspicion falling on him.  He had convinced both the Tyrells and the Lannisters to go in with him in a large supply of firearms.  He knew the Tyrells were weak in that particular area and would be easily snowed.  They would accept any opportunity that sounded profitable enough, whether or not Margaery was advising them.  Luckily for Petyr, Margaery’s greed for cash made her overlook details.    

The deal was originally supposed to be between the Lannisters and the Tyrells.  Tyrion would set everything up for Stannis to come in and arrest Renly.  Convincing the Lannisters to include Petyr was not hard, once he explained that if it was a three family deal, everyone would have a seat to the show.  The proud Lannister liked that idea, as he was always a bit of a show off.  Tyrion liked that idea as well, as it added another family to the mix for Loras and Margaery to blame over Renly’s arrest.  Petyr smirked to himself, he was using them for the same thing, only with Renly’s _death._

Weeks of planning was coming to a head; next week was the big bust.  Sansa was very supportive of the whole thing, even though she would have preferred if Renly lived.  It was actually her that had suggested they use Bronn to carry out the hit.  The baby did not appear to affect her as much as he thought it might.  He couldn’t have been more proud of her ability to separate her feelings from business.  It was a hard thing to do, and something that he had to do often, letting things go for much longer than he liked, promising himself that everything would come in due time.  Business always had to come first, that’s why he suffered through Lysa Arryn for so long and why he was overlooking Margaery’s slimy trick.  The strange number Shae provided them made him wary that there may be more.  He had tried simply calling it but there was no response and no voicemail.  He did not recognize it and resolved to have Stannis look into it.  

Petyr was remembering that he had to meet with Bronn later in the evening to firm up plans for the assassination, when he opened his door and stopped immediately.  Completely naked, laying across his couch on her stomach, was a platinum blonde smiling back at him.  She pushed her ass up off the couch a little and slowly waved her legs back and forth.  Petyr left the door open behind him, not caring to protect her modesty as he sighed, “Have you seen Varys?”  

She giggled, “Why?  I came here to see you.”  

Petyr walked toward his desk and plopped down in his chair, “Varys always screens first.”  

“Screens?”  The blonde sat up, uncomfortably glancing toward the door.  

Petyr didn’t bother to look up from his desk at her, “Yes, if you’re infected with something, Varys needs to know, to plan the schedule.”  

“Schedule?”  She stood up, smiling uncertainly.  

Petyr glanced up, “Yes.”  Was she really not understanding?  Did she think that he would have her working if she caught something?  No one wanted to toss twenties at blistered cunts.  He sighed, “Look, we can arrange for you to be seen if you need it, but the first step is Varys.  Respect the process.”  

She smiled and shook her head as she walked for the door, “I’m clean.”  She shut the door behind her, and leaned against it, placing her arms behind her back.  

Petyr cocked an eyebrow at her, “Then what is the problem?”   

“There’s no problem,” She arched her back, pushing her tits out towards him.  She lifted one leg and rubbed it suggestively against the other as she purred, “I just thought you might want some company.”  

Petyr schooled his expression to remain calm as irritation welled within him.  Girls who worked for him knew he didn’t “want company” from them.  This girl was new, but had she not been warned by the others?  He stared ahead of her, making sure to meet her eye, not allow her the pleasure of catching his eyes sweep her naked form, “I don’t.”

The smile never left her face as she pushed herself off the door and slinked towards him, “I know that you’re married.  You’ve gotta say no, at first anyway.  It makes giving in feel more justified.”  

She was good.  Petyr smiled, thinking of her sales pitch.  If she hadn’t made the horrible mistake of barking up the wrong tree, he could see her making something of herself in his establishments.  Most strippers just got naked and said key catch phrases that tended to work with the male population like: _I’m so wet for you,_ and _fuck me Daddy,_ and of course sprinkle in the occasional, _I’m so horny for your cock._  

This girl spoke of temptation and guilty pleasures.  He decided to cut her some slack, “Nice pitch, but as you just said, I’m married.  I only fuck my wife.”  He hoped she would get the hint this time and they could move on from this.  She could use her skills on the men who brought in the money.  

And then any intelligence Petyr thought the girl had leaked out of her as she hopped up on his desk and spread her legs wide for him.  Petyr stared ahead at her glistening pussy in annoyance and noted at the very least that she truly was clean.  She placed her palms flat on his desk and angled herself closer to him as she said, “And I heard she’s gotten fat.”  

Petyr raised his eyebrows in disbelief as he corrected her, “Pregnant.”  

The blonde shrugged, “Same difference.”  

He couldn’t believe the stupidity.  Actually, he could.  He just didn’t want to.  He stood up and took a step away from the desk as he pulled his phone out.  He knew he would have to teach her the error of her ways.  She looked up at him, the smile falling from her face as she slowly realized that he wasn’t instantly falling prey to her charms.  Petyr typed a quick message to Sasna, _Come to Unveiled immediately._

Petyr then reached for the phone on his desk, dangerously close to her bare ass spread across his papers.  God, he would have to throw all those out.  He grimaced, hoping they weren’t anything important.  Her eyes followed him curiously as he spoke into the mouthpiece, “My office, now.”  

Petyr looked down at his phone and read Sansa’s response, _I’m ten minutes away, everything okay?_

Varys didn’t bother knocking before he came in.  He took in the sight of the blonde and stated defensively, “All of her tests came back negative.”

“She doesn’t have any STDs,” Petyr confirmed.  He thought of the high wrap around booths he had in the VIP section.  They offered a level of privacy that the other seats did not, the only angle of sight was from the stage itself.  Often times, the only way for Petyr to peep in one of those booths was through his secret windows from behind the stage.  A delicious idea came to him and he typed a response to Sansa, _Yes, are you wearing a skirt?_

“Oh, then…”  Varys suddenly stiffened in realization as he looked over at the woman, “You stupid girl.”  

Petyr smirked as he read Sansa’s response, _A dress, why?_

_Take off your panties before you get here_ , Petyr typed a final instruction to his wife before he looked up and agreed, “Yes, she is a stupid girl.”  

The blonde got defensive, “Look, I’m sorry.  I just know men.  When their women are knocked up, they tend to need a little extra company.”  

Varys looked at the floor and sighed, “I apologize, usually the other girls warn the new girls that you don’t go for that sort of thing.”  

“They do look out for each other, don’t they?”  Petyr put his phone in his pocket, “What’s her name?”  

“Betty?”  Varys wrinkled his forehead, “No, it’s Bessy.  I think.”  

She hopped off the desk and made no motion to cover herself as she corrected him, “Bessa.”  

“Not that it matters, but every now and then I do get curious who the girls favor and who they don’t.”  Petyr smiled back at her.  

Varys put his hands in his pockets and agreed, “Yes, they only look out for the girls they like.”  He turned to look at Bessa, “It appears as though you aren’t making many friends.”

Petyr nodded in agreement and then replied, “Sansa will be here shortly, I want you to make sure that Bran isn’t.  Don’t leave his side until I text you.  I don’t want him out on the floor.”  

Varys raised an eyebrow at him, though did not ask whatever question he had in mind.  He nodded his head in compliance and Petyr continued, “And I would like Bessa out on the pole.  The one by my booth.”  

The girl looked up at him in surprise.  Petyr popped a mint in his mouth, “You wanted to attract the attention of a powerful man?  Well, you got it.  Show me your best.”  

She nodded nervously and he stepped aside to allow her to scurry past him.  Petyr chuckled at her nervousness and Varys looked back at him.  Petyr shrugged, “I want her to learn who commands my attention.”  

“So you will have _her_ dance for you?”  Varys eyed him skeptically.  

Petyr grinned from ear to ear, “While Sansa is here.  Let this girl learn first hand just how close my wife and I are.”  

Varys appeared less than enthused but put a smile on all the same.  Petyr would have questioned him further but he needed to make sure that Bran was nowhere in eyesight of his booth.  “Go now, before Sansa arrives.”

Varys nodded and turned to leave, almost as fast as Bessa had.  Petyr smiled to himself as he closed his office door and slowly sauntered down the hall to the dance floor.  He was pleased to see his booth empty, he would have hated to small talk some patrons out of it.  Way back, in the beginning of their relationship, Sansa advised that he always keep it empty so that people knew to show a little respect to him in his establishment.  Petyr remembered how it pleased him to see her understand the importance of power and authority in their world.  But he shook his head and stated that it was because of the respect for power and authority that he could charge a premium rate for customers to use “Littlefinger’s Booth.”  

He always had Ros wipe it down before he got in it anyway.  He chuckled to himself as he thought about the convenience of having a former cleaning lady work his club.  He actually had nothing but good things to say for the woman.  Once Sansa put her in her place that day, she fell right into step.  Her skills on the pole were improving as well, in fact, customers were asking for her specifically.  

She hadn’t yet branched over into anything more than dancing, but Petyr could see it coming soon enough.  That is, if Sansa didn’t have other plans for her.  Each time Sansa came to Unveiled, she always spent a few minutes with Ros.  Petyr had asked Sansa once why she was so focused on this woman and Sansa smiled and replied, “I’m deciding.”  

He had asked her what she was trying to decide and she shrugged noncommittally before answering lightheartedly, “I’ll tell you when I decide.”  Petyr let it go, though his curiosity was peaked and he couldn’t help but notice each time his wife talked to the disgraced cleaning lady.

Petyr stopped at the bar and was about to order an old fashion but remembered that Sansa was coming, she always preferred scotch so he ordered a scotch on the rocks.  With drink in hand, he walked over to the empty booth and sat down.  He looked up to make sure that Bessa was front and center, and she was.  She smiled down at him and he waved back at her, letting her know that he could see her perfectly.  He then pulled his phone out and looked down, letting her see that he chose not to see her.  

It may have seemed petty, but Petyr felt it was the only way girls like Bessa understood things.  He typed a quick message to Mustang Sally (a.k.a. Bronn) firming up the meeting plans for later that evening.  He considered that Sansa would most likely be with him now that he asked her to come to the club.  That is, unless she took her own car home.  He hoped that she wouldn’t.  They could always send someone back for her car later.  He wanted her close.  

He always wanted her close, especially after fucking her.  Sansa had turned him into a sentimental cuddle-after-cummer.  He knew tonight would be no different, after he had her he wouldn’t want her to leave his side.  The night was still young and there was still business to be had, and he hoped she would join him for all of it.  

“You needed me?”  Petyr looked up when he heard Sansa’s voice.  

“Always.  Have a seat.”  Petyr grinned back at her.  His eyes surveyed her up and down to see that she was wearing a short dress that ended mid-thigh and was loose and flowy.   _Perfect,_ he thought to himself.  The blue and pink lights from the club lit up either side of her face and Petyr wondered what she would look like up on the stage, just for him.  She had surprised him with a pole in their bedroom but he told her that he didn’t want her using it while she was pregnant, too worried she might fall or get hurt somehow.  She huffed a little but agreed.  

He loved it when she huffed, she had the cutest pouting face.  It highlighted just how little her mouth was, something that he always found quite alluring.  Petyr was not a small man, but also not the largest, and the way he stretched her mouth helped him to feel so much more prolific.  Sansa was good at that though, she always made him feel bigger and better than he was in many areas of life.  He felt his cock stiffen in his pants as he considered his wife’s many attributes.

He was lost in the thought of her dancing on stage and didn’t notice that she had taken a set beside him.  Well, that wasn’t what he had meant.  He slid a hand down to his lap, tapping it as he repeated himself, “Have a seat.”  

Sansa looked at him skeptically, but played along, “Okay…”  

He grinned as she got up and perched herself on his lap, crossing her legs and setting her arms on her belly.  She didn’t appear uncomfortable, but he could tell that she didn’t know where this was leading.  He thought sinfully to himself, _Don’t worry, I’ll show you._

Petyr took a drink of the scotch, holding it in his mouth for a moment before letting it slide down his throat.  He set the glass on the small table in front of them and asked, “Do you want a taste?”  

Sansa smiled, “If you’re offering.”  

_I’ll always offer, you can have anything,_ He thought to himself as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.  Her tongue licked his bottom lip and slid past it.  She deepened their kiss, exploring the inside of his mouth as he gripped her firmly and let his other hand move to her thigh.  He felt himself tingle with awareness at the intensity of her kiss and he thought to himself, _That’s it, get all the taste.  Take what you can from me.  I’ll give it to you._

She slowly pulled away, her eyes love-drunk and fluttering at him.  He commiserated.  He knew the feeling of being driven completely senseless by a single kiss from the right person.  She turned back and looked up at the stage, “I thought I’d find you in your office.”  

Petyr let his fingertips slip under the hem of her skirt and decided to play coy, “Instead, you found me here.”  

“Not paying attention to naked women twirling in front of you,” Sansa chuckled.  

Petyr shrugged, letting his hand slide up her leg further still, “It’s the same show every night.  I’d much rather have my own private dance.”  

Sansa laughed and rubbed her hand over her belly, “You’re delusional.”  

Petyr let his other hand slide up her waist, to under her arm.  His fingertips reached just over the underwire of her bra and teased the side of her breast.  “How so?”  

“Whatever fantasy you have about me giving you a lapdance is over.  Have you seen my belly?  I’m getting big, Petyr.”  She sounded as if it was obvious and she wasn’t upset by it, but Petyr knew better.  The lights hid any blush from her cheeks, but Petyr knew his wife well enough to know she was flushed.  

He hated that she felt less attractive now that she was pregnant, especially since she was wearing it so well.  He wondered for a moment if he was to fault.  Their sex had changed since the pregnancy, it was much more sensual.  That’s not to say that they had never had slow passionate love-making before.  But they also always had quick, rough, mind-blowing fuck-fests everywhere imaginable.  He smiled as he remembered the time that he hitched her leg up and fucked her in a photo booth.  He still had the picture in his wallet of her face pushed against the wall while he bit her shoulder blade and pumped into her for all he was worth.  Their sex life had always been nothing short of spicy.

Now, as her belly grew, and Petyr was reminded of the tiny life that bloomed inside, it suddenly felt wrong to be rough with her.  He had always had pretty loose morals, but somehow he felt that slapping a pregnant woman’s ass red was unacceptable.  He should be worshipping her, not saying filthy things as he came all over her tits.  This woman was the mother of his daughter, developing her lungs and fighting off Gestational Diabetes.  She was not a quick photo-booth fuck.  

He looked into her eyes and saw for the first time, that maybe she wanted to be.  Maybe, she didn’t want to be worshipped right now.  Perhaps she missed their naughty exploits.  He decided to try, “Yes, your tits are getting bigger too.”  

He slid his hand over and completely cupped her breast over her dress as his other hand held her thigh, holding her in place.  He gently kneaded her breast and watched as her eyes closed and her mouth opened, exhaling slightly.  He leaned in and whispered, “They’re too big for my hands now.”  

She grinned and he could feel her shift in his lap as he kept rubbing.  He leaned in and kissed her neck, sucking and nibbling.  He listened to her quiet sounds of pleasure and felt her nipple harden under her dress.  

Suddenly thinking of something, she stilled and picked her head up, “Where’s Bran?”  

Petyr wouldn’t be deterred, biting her earlobe before answering, “Away.  I made sure of it.  I promise.”

She breathed easy and raised one of her arms up, wrapping it around his shoulders, pushing her breasts closer to his face.  Petyr took her subtle hint and trailed kisses down her throat to her chest, licking her open neckline.  She sighed into him and he let his hand slide towards her ass, “Did you take your panties off like I told you?”

Sansa bit her lip and nodded, “In the car.”  

Petyr pictured her shimmying her undergarments off and throwing them on the passenger seat before she got out and his cock pulsed with need.  His hand felt for the outline of her underwear through her skirt and was pleased to find she was telling the truth.  He pulled her skirt out from under her and reached for her bare ass.  His hand grabbed her cheek possessively as he groaned into her throat, “Good girl.”  

Sansa chuckled, “ _Good girl?_  That’s new.”  

Petyr gently nipped at her breast, “I’ve felt your fingers grip my hair while I ran my tongue all over your pussy.”  

Petyr smiled at the sight of her affected by the memory of his face buried between her legs.  He continued, “And do you know what I’ve heard you call me, on more than one occasion?”

She gasped as the fingers on her ass slowly inched further under her lap to where her legs met, “What?”  

The tips of his fingers felt something wet and he explored further, “ _Good boy._ ”  

Sansa bit her lip and giggled, knowing it to be true.  He felt a bead of precum form at the head of his dick and hated how contained it was, knowing that the material of his pants would soak it up.  He reached his hand just a little further under her and slid his middle finger all over her wetness.  She scooted back, letting her ass hang over the side of his thigh more, and with the new vantage point his slid his finger inside her.  She clenched around his digit and he groaned into her chest.  

She smiled and rocked a little, sliding her tight pussy on his finger.  Petyr needed more and his voice grew hoarse as he growled, “Open your legs.”  

Sansa uncrossed her legs but didn’t open them.  She leaned down to him, kissing the side of his face as she continued her slow, subtle ride on his finger, “Where’s Varys?”  

“What?”  Petyr wouldn’t be distracted, he slid another finger inside to join his middle.  

He felt the moisture of her sudden breath as she moaned into his ear.  At the sensation and realization of her momentary loss of composure, the tip of his dick cried out for release.  Petyr leaned his head back against the booth as Sansa kissed down his neck.  He checked to make sure the blonde on stage was watching and smiled when he saw she was.  Sansa unbuttoned the top of his shirt and laid her hand on his chest as she spoke into his neck, “Let’s move this into the office.”  

“No.”  Petyr shook his head, “I want to fuck you, right here.”  

Sansa picked her head up in surprise.  She was clearly torn between her love of public places and something else.  Petyr didn’t understand.  He knew his wife liked it when they had an audience, much to his dismay.  Her body and the face she made when she came was for him and him alone.  

They had always found ways to compromise though, allowing for the occasional driver to watch as she blew him or a sales associate to listen through a flimsy partial door to her pant and mewl under his tongue.  His favorite instance was at walk-in care when the medical assistant _walked in_ on them.  He remembered the proud smile on Sansa’s face as his dick digged deeper and deeper into her.  

This was no different, he was keeping her covered, and they were in a booth with high backs, the only people to see them would be the dancers.  Sansa never cared for the opinion of staff.  Why was this different?  His mind swam back to an awful memory from years ago.  It was this very same booth that Sansa sat with The Hound.  He slid his meaty paw up her skirt, much like Petyr was doing now.  She smacked the mutt and held him by the throat, exclaiming, “Not in public!”  

Was she remembering back then?  Surely this was different.  Wasn’t it?  Petyr frowned, _I’m not him._  Suddenly, it became vital that he be inside her.  Out here, in the middle of the club for everyone to see.  He would know that she was okay if she let him in.  

More than that though, he needed to know that the rules were different for him.  She may not have wanted anyone to see Clegane touch her, but he needed her to want the world to see him make her his.  He pulled his fingers from her and gripped her ass over her dress as he nuzzled into her neck, pleading, “Open up for me.”  

She squirmed a little in his lap and breathed, “Where is Varys?”  

Petyr pulled his head away and stared back at her, “Gone, why?”  

“How long?”  Sansa grabbed his face and stared seriously into his eyes.  

Petyr’s eyebrows furrowed as he answered, “Until I call him back.  He’s keeping Bran away.”  

Sansa sighed happily and before Petyr could ask why she leaned in and kissed him deeply.  He felt her legs part in his lap and he tingled in anticipation of touching her.  He slid his hand up her leg and pet the outside of her pussy, feeling the soft red line of hair on the back of his fingers.  She shivered under his touch and relished her response to him.  He whispered in her ear, “I know you’re wet for me, but let’s see if we can do better.”  

She nodded and moaned as his fingers slowly edged between her folds and started rubbing the most responsive side of her clit.  “Yes, Petyr, please.”  

He knew she begged him because he liked it, otherwise she wouldn’t have.  She was so strong willed, she would wait as long as it took and if it never happened, she would help herself to completion.  He appreciated the games she would play with him and decided to tease her a little, “Have you been a _good girl_ , Sansa?”  

She chuckled and raised her voice to mock innocence as she played along, “Uh-huh, do I get a treat now?”  

Oh she was delightfully sinful, and Petyr wanted nothing more than to ram his cock into her as hard as he could, pregnant or not.  Underneath the nurturing mother figure that she became more of everyday, was still his delectably wicked wife, craving a good hard fuck.  His hand lifted from her ass as he gripped her breast more forcefully and rubbed at her clit rapidly.  For a split second, he wondered if it was too much.  Her tits were so tender sometimes.  He scanned her looking for any sign of discomfort and grinned happily when he found that there wasn’t.  

He wasn’t rubbing her long before he could feel her body tensing and knew she was close.  It was so soon and already almost her time.  He knew it was because of the pregnancy, but liked to think that it was because of how well he played her body.  His voice deepened, “Look at me.”

She turned her head to face him as directly as possible as she gasped in pleasure.  He kept his fingers working her as she stilled and her whole body went rigid as a board.  Her mouth hung open silently and her eyes widened in euphoria.  Petyr couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss the side of her mouth and down her chin as he felt her tremble in his arms.  

When she regained her composure, she nuzzled into his neck appreciatively, kissing and praising him.  Petyr smiled at her gestures, knowing his aching cock would find relief soon.  He rubbed his hard erection against her thigh and reminded her, “I want to fuck you, right here.”  

She unbuttoned another button on his shirt and licked the top of his scar, “I want you to.”  

Petyr’s eyes fluttered closed at the sensual sound of her voice not only consenting but encouraging him.  He was about to reach down and unbutton his fly when he had a better idea, “Pull my cock out.”

Sansa gently ran her teeth over his scar as she reached down and unfastened his pants.  Her slender fingers dove in and gripped him.  He felt a shiver through his body at the feel of her soft hands on him.  She pulled his sweater out and put it over his dick as she worked him up and down.  Petyr looked down at the motion under his shirt and looked back at her in question.  

Sansa leaned in and gently bit his lip before she spoke against his mouth, “That’s _my_ cock.”

Overcome with sensation, Petyr’s head fell back against the booth again.  He didn’t know what was driving him more out of his mind, the feel of her grip on him or the possessiveness she displayed.  She was actually covering him, blocking him from view, to protect what was hers.  Not that there was an occasion for it before, but this was definitely the first time she had done anything like that.  Petyr decided to poke a little further, “Anyone saying it’s not?”  

Sansa’s hands rubbed down his shaft, and her fingers reached down rubbing his balls as she answered, “Of course not.  But that blonde up on stage is gawking at us.”  

Bessa!  Petyr had forgotten completely, lost in the feel of his wife.  He realized that he should clue Sansa in.  He groaned as she kissed his neck, “Good, she needs to learn.”  

“Learn what?”  Sansa asked into his neck, her hand massaging the head of his dick.  

Petyr’s voice caught in his throat as he struggled to answer, “I only fuck you.”  

Sansa paused and cocked her head to the side in curiosity, “Did she think otherwise?”  

Needing her to continue, Petyr bucked up into her hand, “I need you.”  

She stared back at him, unmoving.  Petyr started to try to shift her as he begged, “Let me fuck you.”  

Sansa let him turn her in his lap so she faced forward.  He pulled her back against his chest and rested his chin on her shoulder, whispering, “Let me in.  Please.  I’m _aching_ to get inside that tight pussy of yours.”  He trailed kisses on her neck as he vowed, “I’ll tell you everything.”

He could hear her wheels turning as she thought.  He rubbed her breasts over her dress, wondering if she would stop him.  She didn’t.  So he pulled at her skirt, removing the one piece of cloth that separated him from her.  She didn’t resist him, but she also wasn’t helping.  He knew he had to talk fast.  He rubbed his erection against the bare skin under her dress, “When I walked into my office, she was there, naked.  Waiting for me.”  

Sansa stiffened and Petyr kissed her shoulder as he grinded himself against her, “I thought she caught an STD or something.”  Sansa knew that Petyr inspected the girls from time to time, it was part of the business.  And she knew that looking at rashy cunts wasn’t exactly temptation for him to stray, so she never cared.  

He kissed behind her ear as he continued, “When I realized she was offering herself to me, I laughed.”  

He could feel her body relax in his lap and he knew she was calming.  He snaked a hand down in between them, holding his cock to rub along the outside of her wet opening.  He felt her arch her chest up into his other hand and he smiled, “I texted you immediately.  And then I told her to work the pole in front of our booth.”  

“Oh?”  Sansa asked, refusing to respond as he slowly pushed just the tip inside of her.  He admired her ability to play unaffected.  

“Yes.  I wanted her to see who I fuck,”  And then Petyr bucked up inside of her, growling his pleasure.  

He heard her suck in air and utter, “Uh-ng!”  

He held her in place as her body reflexively gripped his cock.  He controlled his voice as he said, “To anybody passing by, you are just sitting in my lap.”  

Sansa started to grind in his lap, her hands dropping to grip his thighs.  She rested her head back on his shoulder as she moved, “Let me get this straight, you’re teaching this girl that you only want me by watching her dance for you while you fuck me?”  

Petyr moaned, “No!  I haven’t taken my eyes off you, Sansa.  And she sees that.  She’s naked in front of me and can’t get my attention.  You have all of it.”  He kissed behind her ear as he matched her subtle rhythm, holding her close.  “When you walk in the room, nothing else exists, just you and me.”  

Sansa gave a shaky exhale, and he knew she was understanding.  Her voice deepened in sensuality, “It’s just her that can see us, right?”  

Petyr eagerly nodded his head against hers, “Maybe Ros too, if she works this pole with her.  But mostly just her.”  

Sansa chuckled softly and brought one hand back to run her fingers through his hair, “Then let’s give her something to watch.”  

Petyr gripped her hips and lifted her up and down on his cock as he groaned, “You’re perfect.”  

Sansa leaned forward, resting her forearms on the little table in front of them, giving Petyr a better view of their joining.  He lifted her skirt up over her ass so he could see the rounds of it snuggle either side of his cock.  She smiled over her shoulder, encouraging him, “ _We_ are.  Let me feel how perfect we are.”  

Petyr looked at her smiling face and felt her full support.  It made him just want to sink himself into her as far as he could, so he did.  He grabbed her ass and bounced her on him at an obscene speed.  He watched her head bob up and down with the force of his fucking.  He pictured her smiling straight ahead at the dumb blonde twirling around the pole as he gritted his teeth and filled her with all of himself.  Oh god, his perfect wife, letting him claim her out in the open, encouraging his lewd behavior.  Petyr pumped up into her triumphantly as he proudly noted that the rules definitely were different for him.

He felt himself teetering on the edge as he gripped her ass desperately, “Sansa, I’m so close, _fuck_.”

She looked back at him, purring through her naughty smile, “Good boy.  Give it to me, fill me up--”  

“Agh!”  Petyr couldn’t stifle his groan as he exploded against her inner walls.  

She sat back up as he shivered in aftershock.  She rested her back against his chest as she gently rolled her hips on him, milking his erection until he softened and left her.  He kissed her shoulder and neck and hugged her gratefully as he caught his breath.  She lifted her hand to pet the back of his head and when he opened his eyes, he noticed over her shoulder that her breast was exposed.  

He smiled, “You fell out.”  

Sansa looked down and tucked herself back in as she teased, “You fucked me so hard my tit popped out.”  

Petyr laughed and hugged her close, letting his hands finally roave down to her belly, large and hard from when she had cum earlier.  She slid her hands over his and chided him, “The baby is fine.”  

“I did get a little rough at the end…”  Petyr acknowledged with a minor degree of shame.  

Sansa shook her head, “And it was fine.”  

Petyr would have argued, but the tone in her voice told him that it wasn’t something to press.  He reluctantly nodded his head.  Sansa smiled and pulled her phone out, texting something quick to someone.  Petyr eyed her curiously, “Who are you texting?”  

Sansa smiled and turned in his lap, kissing his grey temple, “Ros.  I’m here, I might as well catch up with her.  I told her to meet me in the bathroom in a few.”  

Petyr never would understand women.  He had just fucked her until he’d gone senseless and he knew she was one hundred percent invested too, but there she was, moments later, handling social affairs.  Petyr decided to follow her lead and picked up his cell phone.  

She asked him who he was texting and he told her that it was Varys, he was allowing him to come back.  Sansa’s whole demeanor changed as she looked dead serious and almost panicky, “Put your dick away first.”  

Petyr chuckled, “It’s Varys.  He has one too.  I doubt he would be upset.”  

Sansa shifted in his lap and reached down, grabbing him in her hand, much less delicately than normal.  Petyr winced, still sensitive from his orgasm, “Ow, what are you doing?”  

Sansa ignored him, cramming him into his pants as he exclaimed, “Sansa!  What is going on?!”  

“He can’t see you like this,” She zipped his fly and buttoned him up.  

“What the hell?”  Petyr couldn’t help but wonder why his wife suddenly cared what Varys saw.  

She scooted off his lap entirely and saw the large wet spot on his thigh from where she was sitting and groaned in frustration.  She grabbed her coat off the seat and laid it in his lap, “Hold this there until it dries.”  

Petyr wrinkled his forehead, “You’re awfully shy all of a sudden.”  

Sansa didn’t respond as she started combing her hair behind her ears, “It’s just decent, Petyr.”  

_Decent?  What the hell is she on about?_  Petyr thought before he placed his hand on her cheek and turned her to face him, “Tell me.  What is going on?”  

“It’s not for me to tell.”  She shook her head out of his grasp.  

Now he was getting worried, “Sansa, we tell each other things.”  

She huffed, “Says the man who kept my brother a secret.”  

“Stop.”  Petyr saw through her act, “You are trying to drudge up something already forgiven to avoid telling me something.”

Sansa squirmed next to him and sighed uncomfortably before she looked down at her hands and said, “If you loved someone--”  

She looked at Petyr quickly who smiled back, “Yes?”  

“And you knew that they loved someone else, what would you do?”  Sansa played with her hands.  

Petyr chuckled, “Fight.  You know that.  I fought for you.”  

Sansa shook her head, a sad smile on her face, “That was different.  You knew I didn’t love the Hound.”  

“Thank Christ.”  Petyr rolled his eyes.  

“But what if I did?”  She looked him in the eye for the first time since talking this nonsense.  

Petyr grabbed her hand, “I don’t know.”  And he really didn’t.  He would want to kill the opposition, obviously.  But if she actually loved them he wouldn’t want to hurt her.  But she was _his._ No one else’s.  What was she trying to tell him?  “Sansa, what are you saying?”  

She sighed, “Some people would stay close by, knowing that they couldn’t be with the person they loved.  But would choose to remain loyal to them, regardless.  Keeping them and their family safe.”  

Petyr blinked back at her.  Very slowly he started thinking out of the analogy of him and Sansa, and let his mind land on Varys.  “Are you saying…?”  

Sansa just nodded.  Petyr looked back at her dumbstruck.  Sure he had always wondered if the bald man may have been a touch gay, but he never truly thought he was.  And he never considered that he may desire him in particular.  He couldn’t help but ask, “Really?”  

Varys approached before Sansa could say anything else, Bran in tow.  The young Stark smiled, “Hey, Sis.”  

Sansa smiled back at him warmly, “Varys been keeping you busy?”  

“Oh yeah.  I’ve got to unload boxes in the backroom now, but I saw ya and wanted to say hi.”  Bran smiled back at her before he glanced over to the blonde on stage.  He pointed at her and furrowed his brow, “She doesn’t look happy up there.  Sad strippers don’t bring in cash.”  

Petyr took a sip of his drink and gripped Sansa’s coat over his thigh.  He was thankful that Sansa answered for him, “Good point.  Let’s take her off the stage for a bit.”  She stood up to her full height, smoothing her dress over her legs, so no one would know that she was dripping with his cum.  Her arm raised and she waved to the girl, motioning for her to exit the stage.  The woman turned and walked off and Sansa turned back to Petyr, placing a kiss on his cheek, “I should go to the ladies.”  

Petyr nodded and grabbed her hand, pulling her back to him as he offered her a quick peck on the lips.  Sansa smiled as she turned away from him and pulled Bran away with her, “Bathrooms are on the way to the back.  Walk your sister?”  

Bran set his arm around her waist and smiled at her, “Sure, yeah.”  

Sansa flashed a smile over her shoulder at Petyr as she walked off with her brother.  Petyr was left alone with Varys, the man who was apparently in love with him.  He gestured to the booth and offered, “Have a seat.”  

Varys sat down carefully, sensing Petyr was off, no doubt.  After a silence, Varys started, “You’ll be meeting with Bronn tonight?”  

“Yes,” Petyr admitted.  The silence between them could be heard over the club music and Petyr took the last swig of his drink before he belted out, “So you love me?”  

Varys’ eyes shot up in surprise, “She told you that?”  

Petyr shook his head, “No, the sunscreen did--once I thought about it.”  

Varys looked stunned, “Excuse me?”  

“It’s okay.”  Petyr told him.  And it was.  It actually, really was okay.  Petyr closed his eyes as he admitted, “I can never feel that way for you.”  

Varys stared back, unwilling to give anything away.  Unwilling to admit what was so obvious once Petyr finally looked at it.  

Petyr set his empty glass on the table and shrugged, “But I am guessing that you made your peace with that long ago.”  

Varys nodded his head once, still on guard.  

“Sansa has taught me that it is always the people that love you that are most loyal.  Thank you for your loyalty over the years,”  Petyr leaned in and offered emphasis, “ _Friend_.”

Silence filled the air again and then Varys closed his eyes and turned his head.  He raised his hand to his cheek and Petyr wondered if he was swiping away a tear.  If he was, Petyr never saw it.  Suddenly, Varys smiled wide, “Think nothing of it, _Petyr._ ”  

Petyr smiled back at him, trying to show him that nothing had changed.  Varys grinned back and then picked up his phone and held it up to show Petyr.  His display screen read:   _You are twenty-four weeks pregnant today!_

Petyr chuckled, “Yours is slow.  I was notified earlier tonight.”  

Varys smiled as he read the notification quickly.  He picked his head up, “Gestational Diabetes?”  

Petyr nodded.  

“She shouldn’t have any more Iced Lemon Loaf from Highgarden.”  Varys warned him.  

Petyr chuckled, “You try telling her that.”  

Varys started punching things into his phone as he said, “I don’t have to.  I’ll just have them sold out each time she walks in.”  

Petyr laughed, “You would do that?”  

Varys sighed, “Remember back when you grew a fondness for that special reserve cognac and you would drink too much each time you had it?”  

“Yes, it was really hard to find.”  Petyr remembered it reverently.  

“Was it?”  Varys smiled at him.  

Realization hit and Petyr glared back at the bald man, “You son of a bitch.”  

Varys winced a little, “I was only trying to help.”  

Petyr sighed.  He couldn’t argue with Varys.  He was right, that time at least.  And he was right about this too.  “I trust your judgement.  But if she catches you, I had nothing to do with this.”  

Varys smiled warmly and Petyr felt completely at ease around the man that had proven himself time and time again to be a solid right hand.  All he needed now was to get his meeting with Bronn over with so he could curl up in bed to his wife.  He would talk silently to his daughter in his head as he rubbed her belly; the perfect ending to the night.   


	24. Open Your Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now I may be picking out baby names and stressing over nursery themes but I will still break a whore that steps out of line.

Sansa had told Petyr that she needed to use the restroom to clean up after their encounter.  She had _not_ told him that when she had texted Ros, Sansa told her to hold that blonde bitch in the bathroom and wait for her.  

When Sansa opened the door, the woman was standing against the far wall next to the towel dispenser, wearing something from the clearance section of White Trash-R-Us.  Ros stood by the door, glaring across the room, ready to fight to keep her there if need be.  She was wearing a small satin robe over her costume, and had taken off her four inch heels, opting for the pair of soft flats she wore whenever she was off the floor.  Judging by the scratches on her face and the way Ros wiggled her fingers to loosen her hand, they had already had a bit of a scuffle.  Sansa was pleased to see she was turning out to be very useful.  Ros smiled and nodded back when Sansa tipped her head in appreciation.

Sansa had been visiting Ros each time she came to Unveiled, building a relationship with the woman that she broke in her bedroom so long ago now.  It started out simply complimenting her on the weight she’d lost and how well her costume looked.  Then Sansa made her feel like they were bonding over shared interests, their favorite television shows and music.  It was completely intentional on Sansa’s part, even though she was finding she actually enjoyed Ros’ company.  Sansa knew she needed to reduce the woman first.  After that, she could build a relationship of sorts with her, resulting in some degree of loyalty to Sansa.  Ros would never be completely trustworthy, but Sansa would be able to use her to varying degrees.      

Now cornered, the blonde shrugged her shoulders in defense, forcing nonchalance, as she tried to explain herself, “Look, it’s no big deal.  It’s just pussy.  All men want it if you give it.”  

“Not my man,” Sansa grinned as she slowly walked towards her.  

The blonde’s chest heaved, her voice pressured, “Yeah, I get it.  I didn’t mean anything by it.”  

Sansa cocked her head to the side, “Didn’t you?”  

The blonde stared at her, eyes darting around looking for something to defend herself with.  Sansa smiled, “Everything’s bolted to the wall.  So, unless you’re going to try to beat me with a roll of toilet paper, I’d focus on me if I were you.”  

The blonde inhaled, a panic rising in her voice, “Look, owners sample the merchandise.  I was just being a good employee.”  

Sansa couldn’t contain her laughter, and looked back at Ros, “Can you believe this garbage?”  

Ros smiled at her, “Not in this club.”  

Sansa turned to the blonde, “Did you hear that?  Not in this club.”  

The blonde stared straight ahead, trying to make herself appear tougher than she was, “Whatever.  I fucked up.  You showed me.”  

Sansa’s smile was frightening as she clucked her teeth, “Oh, no.  No, no, no.”  

The blonde stared at her like a deer in headlights.  It was good that she was afraid.  The more afraid this slut was, the more Ros would remember too.  Ros would of course tell the other girls about this encounter and any fleeting concern that Sansa might have about this situation repeating itself would dissipate.  She smiled and said, “I haven’t shown you anything yet.”  

Sansa felt some of Petyr’s cum drip down her thigh just below the hem of her dress as she walked further into the room.  She bent a little, swiping the liquid off her leg with her index finger, bringing it to her mouth.  The woman watched as Sansa licked it clean, offering a small moan as if she was eating something decadent, “My husband made his preference clear, that is true.  And, I think for as stupid as you seem to be, you can at least understand that.”  

The woman stared back and timidly nodded her head.  Sansa’s smile widened, “Good.  And now it’s my turn to make something clear: you disrespected me.”  

The blonde shook her head, “I didn’t--”

Sansa’s hand came up for her to stop talking.  Sansa remembered the girl Petyr pretended to flirt with years ago and the jealousy she felt over her.  She remembered having Arya slice her tires in retaliation.  At the time, Sansa got jealous because she thought Petyr had wanted someone else.  The idea of him being with another woman turned her blood to acid.  

Years later, it wasn’t Becca the Baker, but the feeling remained the same.  It wasn’t a sales associate, or even this stupid blonde slut, but instead someone powerful, someone of consequence.  It was someone that Petyr not only wanted but supposedly had, at least once.  At the thought of Petyr running his tongue over Margaery-fucking-Tyrell, Sansa wanted to stab at anything in front of her until it stopped moving.  Then and only then, covered in the blood of retribution, would she blink the viciousness out of her eyes and see the reality of her rage.  

She took a deep breath and regained her senses.  This was not that.  Petyr didn’t want this pathetic trailer park Barbie.  Sansa felt no need, not even irrational, to be jealous-- not over her anyway.  She did feel disrespected though.  This blonde knew Petyr was married, and yet she still went after him.  And anyone who knew that he was married, knew who he was married to.  She was a Stark Wolf and that meant something.  It meant that she couldn’t stand for this sort of insolence.     

Sansa slowly approached the blonde, digging a knife out of her purse.  The woman fidgeted and raised her voice, “What the fuck are you doing?!”  

“Whatever I want,” Sansa smiled back.  

“What the fuck?!  No!”  Blondie’s voice raised, frantic.  

Sansa laughed, “Go ahead and scream.  Right now, it’s just you, me, and Ros.  If anyone hears you, my husband will send his men to come and help me too.  It’ll be easier for you with just us girls.”  

The blonde’s eyes traveled down to Sansa’s belly and she bawled up her fists.  Sansa sighed, “Don’t get any ideas.”  

“Look, I don’t even want your husband.  I’ll fucking leave!  Right now, I won’t come back.”  The blonde cried.  

Sansa ignored her pleas as she lifted a hand over her shoulder and motioned for Ros to come closer.  She looked back at the blonde, “Sit on the floor.”  

“What?  No.”  She shook her head back and forth vigorously.    

Sansa commanded more forcefully, “Sit on the floor _now._ ”  

Sansa looked over at Ros and instructed, “Hold her.  If she fights you--”  Sansa paused for a moment and rubbed her belly for Ros to see.  She then continued, “don’t lose.”  

Ros nodded before she charged forward and wrangled the blonde down.  The blonde spit at her and thrashed her head around, “Fuck off!  Get off me, Ros, you bitch!”  

Sansa was mildly surprised to see Ros bashing the back of Blondie’s head against the wall before chuckling at her, “She’s not as scrappy as she looks.”  

“That’s because she doesn’t look scrappy,” Sansa laughed, “Just _ratty_.”    

Ros smiled and held the blonde in place as Sansa advanced slowly, avoiding the flailing legs.  She brought the blade down to hover in front of her face and smiled, “It’s time for you to learn your lesson.”  

Sweat drenched the blonde’s hairline and she whimpered at the sight of the knife staring her right in the eye.  Sansa hunched down beside her, one hand supporting her belly and the other bringing the weapon closer to the woman’s terrified face.  She had barely brushed Blondie’s lips with the tip before she commanded, “Open your mouth.”  

The woman started sobbing and whimpering.  Sweat drenched her hair into a clumps that dangled by her eyes.  Sansa repeated herself, “Open.  Your.  Mouth.”  

Reluctantly, the blonde did as she was told.  Sansa slid the knife past her lips to lay flat on her tongue as she trembled around it.  Sansa felt a giggle escape her at the sight of the slutty nervous wreck in front of her.  There was something intoxicating about reducing someone to such a degree.  Without notice, Sansa angled the knife in her mouth and pulled it out quickly, against the resistance of her flesh, slicing the full length of the inside of her cheek.  Sansa watched her blade return to her, coated in deep red.  

The woman screamed out and writhed, unable to clutch her face with Ros holding her.  Sansa stood up and took a couple of steps back.  She glanced over to Ros, “You can let her go.”  

Ros wrinkled her brow in curiosity, but apparently knew better than to outright ask.  Sansa smiled, “She knows not to run.”  Sansa looked over at the blood pouring out of the Blonde’s mouth, “Don’t you?”  

Ros cleared her throat, “Bessa is pretty stupid.”  

Sansa laughed, amused by Ros’ mettle.  She walked over to the sink and looked in the mirror, “Even the simplest of brains understand pain.”  

She watched through the reflection as Ros slowly released the blonde, now known to be Bessa.  The club music could be heard in the distance and covered her cries until they died down.  The music was specifically picked to be sensual and erotic, encouraging the girls’ continuous motion and the mens’ never-ending generosity.  Though, in this moment, it was the soundtrack to Sansa’s violent display of dominance and Bessa’s excruciating education.  

Bessa remained crouched on the floor, blood running from her lips as she held her cheek.  Sansa pulled a paper towel from the dispenser, wiped off her knife, and put it back in her bag.  She noticed a spot of blood on her hand and sighed in annoyance, “Of course.”  She leaned over the sink, careful not to push her belly into the counter too much.  As the water ran over her hands, she talked to Ros in the mirror, “Let that be a lesson to you.  No matter how hard you try to avoid it, blood always gets on your hands.”  

Ros smiled back at her, accepting Sansa’s tutelage.  Sansa pulled more paper towels down and dried her hands as she turned around.  Bessa had gone quiet.  She just held her face and looked at her, horrified.  Sansa tossed the paper towel in the trashcan and walked closer to her.  She then pulled her wallet out of her purse as she asked, “Are you listening?  I hope you are.”  

Bessa nervously nodded her head.  Sansa feigned boredom as she recited what should have been common knowledge, “Petyr Baelish only fucks Sansa Baelish.”  She smiled for emphasis as she added, “He belongs to me.”  

The woman blinked back and slowly nodded her agreement.  Sansa explained, “When you tried to fuck Littlefinger, you were screwing _me_.”  

Bessa whimpered and Sansa put a finger to her lips, “Shh.  I don’t appreciate being screwed by scraggly-ass nobodies.  You’re all done now.”  

Sansa opened her wallet and took out a five dollar bill, throwing it at her, “Under the dashboard hand-jobs go for five bucks.”  Sansa pulled out a ten dollar bill and dropped it on her head, “Back alley bjs are about ten.”  Finally, she pulled out two twenties and held them up, “And if you wash your cunt out in each truck stop sink, you might actually be able to get a solid forty for a fuck.”  

The woman’s eyes clenched shut as she sobbed.  Sansa tossed the bills at her before bringing her hand down to her belly.   Feeling her child kick, Sansa smiled thinking to herself, _Don’t worry Baby, Mommy’s taking care of this bitch.  No one’s ever going to touch Daddy._  

Ros asked smiling, “Is it kicking again?”  

Sansa nodded, “It must feel how happy I am right now.”  She looked back at Bessa, unable to contain her grin, “Give me your phone.”  

Not even attempting to struggle, the woman pulled her phone out of her bag with a trembling hand.  It was cheap, banged up, and covered in rhinestones, most of which were missing.  Sansa had difficulty seeing anything on the cloudy low-resolution screen but found the camera button and took a picture of Bessa on the ground, bloody, surrounded by bills.  

Sansa crouched down and showed her the picture on her phone as she said, “This is your life now.”  

She tossed the phone at her before standing up to tower over her as she spoke, “Each time you you chug a salty shot of cum to afford dollar store tampons, that cut in your mouth will burn to remind you that’s as good as it’s ever going to get for you.  All because you fucked with the wrong family.”

Bessa closed her eyes, but the tears rolled down her cheeks all the same.  Sansa turned to look at Ros, who stood silently to the side, taking in the sight.  Satisfied that both women were getting her message loud and clear, Sansa turned to leave.  She had just reached the door before she laughed at herself and said matter-of-factly, “Oh!  I forgot to clean up.”  

Sansa took her time walking over to a toilet, her heels clicking loudly on the floor.  She lifted one leg and set her foot on the toilet seat, to offer a better angle to wipe away all the wetness that had gathered.  She was proud to note that at this angle, the aftermath of her husband’s affection could better be seen.  The bathroom was shrouded in silence as Sansa revelled in the uncomfortable tension that hung in the air, cleaning herself at a painstakingly slow rate.    

She carelessly tossed the wad of paper in the toilet and brought her leg down, switching to the other leg to kick the handle to flush.  Smoothing her hands over her dress, she smiled at Bessa, “There, that’s much better.”  

Sansa left the stall and approached Ros, speaking loud enough for Bessa to hear, “Stay here with her.  Varys will be by shortly to make sure her future is how I picture it.”  

Ros nodded her understanding as Sansa left the bathroom in search of Varys.  She looked at the booth she and Petyr had just been in, only to find it vacant.  Her eyes scanned the room and landed on her husband and the bald man at the bar.  She smirked to herself noting how he held her coat in his hand against his leg, doing just as she’d instructed.  Surely the spot must be dried by now?  

She had caught Petyr’s eye and he offered her a subtle wave to join him.  She was in his arms in seconds, the smell of his cologne filled her nostrils and she wanted nothing more than to stay in his grasp for the rest of the night.  She took her coat out of his hands and stood just in front of him enough to cover his leg.  She greeted Varys, who smiled back, before he took the final swallow of his drink.     

He set the glass on the bar and Sansa caught his eye meaningfully, “Ros needs help with the new girl.”  

Petyr turned to her, “What’s wrong?”  

“Nothing major,” Sansa smiled at him dismissively, “She’s just a little under the weather.”  

Varys raised an eyebrow, “Where is she?”

“Bathroom,” Sansa schooled her face to not give anything away.  

It was no use, Petyr knew her too well.  He gave her a look of amusement as he spoke to Varys, “Help her leave, and make sure she knows she’s expected not to return.”  

“I’d wager she knows not to return.”  Varys looked at Sansa seriously for a moment before a slight smirk appeared on his face.  

Sansa smiled back at him before he left.  She caught a whiff of mint as Petyr smiled into her ear, “You weren’t _jealous,_ were you?”

She scoffed, “Am _I_ the one that gets jealous?”  

He sighed, almost dissatisfied, “No.  Not usually.”  And then with renewed energy he smiled back, “But you hid my cock.”  

Sansa sighed, “We were fucking.  You usually like to keep that at least semi-private.”  

Petyr’s chuckle was sudden and judging by the look on his face, it was too unexpected to stop from escaping his lips.  He kissed her gently, “It would be okay if you were jealous, you know.”  

Sansa smiled and rolled her eyes before explaining, “I was disrespected, Petyr.  She had to learn.”  

He looked at the bathroom door and hung his head, “I don’t know what you did, but I have a feeling I don’t like it.”

“Too bad.”  Sansa stared straight ahead as she responded, not allowing the wind to be taken from her sails.  After a long pause, she offered more explanation, “This baby is changing me in so many ways, but it is not changing the fact that I am not someone to cross.”  

He held her hand in his, running his thumb back and forth over it, “You are very respected.  And you have people to do these things for you.”  

“I know.”  She sighed and then continued, “And, I also know that I won’t let people think that I am any weaker by being pregnant.  I was hunched over a toilet vomiting my breakfast and I still handled Daisy.  Now I may be picking out baby names and stressing over nursery themes but I will still break a whore that steps out of line.  And people need to know that.”  

Petyr was silent, considering her words before speaking carefully, “I respect that.”  He gave her hand another squeeze,”You are the toughest person I know.  This child is not taking away from that.  If anything, it’s only adding to it.”  Petyr leaned into her ear, his voice husky, “My fierce mama-wolf, protecting her cub.”  He then reached for her belly, rubbing it as he spoke, “But it would be so easy for someone to devastate us right now with one stray punch or kick.”  

Sansa knew he was right, rationally.  But she couldn’t abate her deep-seeded need to directly face all opposition and crush it.  Having to play nice all the time was grating.  Sansa lived a life of dining with predators all preying upon each other in the guise of amiability.  Every meeting, message, interaction had a double meaning; miss one and be fooled by the other.  It was a lot of work to be so guarded and it felt good to drop the shield and let the predator out to play.  Brutality was not complex; it was direct and absolute.  Sansa wanted to explain all of this to Petyr, but knew for as much as he understood, his need to keep her and the baby safe from harm was greater.  She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek before she agreed with him, “I know.  I was careful--I had Ros hold her.”  

Petyr offered a small smile before returning the peck on her cheek, “That makes me feel only slightly better.”

Sansa sighed as she leaned into him further, “What would make you feel a lot better?”   

Petyr wrapped his arms around her and said simply, “Ride home with me.”  

“What?”  Sansa smiled back, her eyebrows furrowed in curiosity.  She had driven over here, it only made sense for her drive her car back.  

“We’ll get someone else to bring our cars home.  Join me.”  His voice contained a hint of need that she could not overlook.  

Truth be told, the idea of not having to part from him was looking more and more appealing.  In the past hour, her husband had publicly claimed her as roughly as he had in months, and she had just come fresh from cutting a bitch in the bathroom.  The perfect end to the day would be to rest in her husband’s arms.  She pressed her forehead to his cheek and nodded her agreement, “Okay.”  

He smiled back at her, eyes lighting up in excitement, “Then let’s leave now.  There’s a limo waiting out back.”  

“Limo?”  Sansa cocked an eyebrow in curiosity.  

Petyr grinned, “For our meeting with Bronn.”

Sansa had told him that they should use Bronn for Renly.  Suggesting the hitman was her way of showing Petyr how much she supported him.  It must have been a couple of months ago now, and he was just getting around to talking to Bronn?  She knew that the baby had been a huge distraction for her, but was shocked to realize how much it had impacted Petyr too.  He was always so organized, so on point.  As he lead her to the car and opened the door for her, she couldn’t help but feel a sliver of disappointment.  

As soon as Sansa got in the car, she wiggled her toes in her tight shoes as she thought about her husband and how different he was lately.  He was so focused on the baby and family, that it appeared as though he had not been putting as much energy into their work.  She didn’t notice it at first, wrapped up in their new life too.  She thought of all the time and energy he put into talking about the baby, and Bran’s recovery, and not the other families or shipments, or sales and distribution.  He barely discussed the clubs, or the whores in them.  She had split her focus from just him to the life that grew inside of her.  His loss of focus would have bothered her more if she wasn’t so distracted herself.  But now it bothered her a lot.

Sansa lifted her heels out of her shoes, subtly squeezing her toes to relieve the pressure, before sliding her feet back inside.  She thought back to the first time she saw him, tossing a package of coke on the table at the Doghouse.  He was so confident and so in control of everything that she felt entirely safe and in danger all at the same time.  Drawn to his eyes, she was suspended in the comfort of the calming grey-green pools, protected from the heavy gravity of reality.  His eyes were like a siren song, tempting her to fall into them.  She knew the danger of letting go, releasing her grip.  The pools would consume her and she would be his eternally.  

His appeal wasn’t in tight skin, bulging muscles, or being as tall as a tree.  It was the complete and utter _certainty_ of Petyr Baelish.  He always knew what to do, always had a plan.  He worked tirelessly and made it appear effortless.  She wouldn’t lie to herself and say that she wasn’t attracted to his power.  And she wouldn’t say for an instant that he wasn’t attractive physically either.  It wasn’t even the unshakable obsession he had with knowing every inch of her, inside and out, from the moment they locked eyes.  Though, that definitely titillated her in ways that she had never felt before.  It truly was the sharp focus in him that drove her into his arms and kept her there.  

He could become horribly disfigured and she would still climb on his lap and lovingly ride him until they both came in each other’s arms.  And the Lannisters and Tyrells could join forces and render him powerless, and she would still kiss him deeply and call him hers.  But if he lost that quality, that confidence that sent shivers up her spine and wetness pooling between her legs, she wasn’t sure how dignified she would find the grey at his temples anymore.  

Sansa had been so lost in thought, fearing that what made her love her husband so deeply was disappearing, that she didn’t notice that she hadn’t been paying attention.  His voice raised, “Sansa?”  

She looked over at him and put a smile on her face, “Sorry, I spaced out.”  

“You did,” he acknowledged, eyeing her closely.  “Penny for your thoughts?”  

She thought she’d try to evade him by pretending to be playful, asking if her thoughts were worth so little.  The way his eyes bore into her, she knew he wouldn’t accept any avoidance tactic.   She wiggled her feet in her shoes again before Petyr sighed and tapped his lap, “Come on, up here.”  

Sansa smirked, “We’ve already played that game.”  

Petyr chuckled, “Take off your shoes, I’m giving you a foot rub.”  

Sansa cocked an eyebrow in mock disbelief, “ _You_?  Are going to touch my feet?  Really?”  Petyr was always crystal clear with her that feet were not his thing.  He told her that he had nothing personally against them, but he wouldn’t be taking a foot massage class anytime soon and he was not a fan of any sex play involving feet.  She was fine with it because she couldn’t imagine kissing him after he licked her feet.

He sighed dramatically, “Yes, Sansa Baelish.  I’m going against my better judgement and touching your feet.  The things I do so my wife will talk to me.”  

She didn’t miss the barb, however playfully issued.  She kicked off her heels and placed her feet in his lap.  Sansa was tempted to flirt with him to avoid talking about her thoughts, but knew better.  It was Petyr, he may put it on the back burner, but he wouldn’t forget, the subject would be revisited.  His thumbs worked into the balls of her right foot and she found herself leaning against the side of the car for support against the glorious onslaught of his touch.  

Her eyes closed as she listened to Petyr, “You should stop wearing heels.”  

“Never.”  Her reply so dismissive, she didn’t bother to open her eyes.  

“They’re clearly not comfortable.”  Petyr observed, cupping and squeezing the heel of her foot.  

Sansa laughed, “So?  They make my ass look great.”  

Petyr pressed a thumb in her arch and she cried out in pleasure.  Her eyes snapped open as she looked back at him, feeling a modicum of embarrassment, not over the sound, but at the loss of control in letting it escape  her.  His smirk was lewd as he shifted in his seat.  

Sansa knew that motion, he was getting off on this!  The man who didn’t like feet.  The man who would never be caught dead touching one, let alone massaging it.  Sansa felt her face heat, about to read him the riot act when he looked back down at her feet and the excitement on his face faded.  She realized that it must have been the sound she made that evoked such a response from him.  His smiled back, sweetly, “Your ass looks great when you’re barefoot.”  

Sansa smiled, about to respond when he continued, “Bent over.”  

She chuckled as he added, “Legs spread.”  

Sansa pressed her lips together, trying not to smile as he finished with a devilish grin, “All for me.”

A wave of wetness overcame her, her nipples hardening in response as she felt the car roll to a stop.  Distracted from the visceral response her husband pulled from her, Sansa looked out the window to see the seasoned hitman leaning against his latest Mustang.  Saved by the Bronn.  Sansa took a deep breath, realizing she narrowly missed having to tell Petyr her feelings.  She glanced over at him, to see him gazing at her, reading her face.  The way his lips tightened as he glanced out the window, told her that he was not relishing the distraction as much as she was.  

As Bronn approached, Sansa moved to lift her feet off of Petyr’s lap and he gripped her harder.  She eyed him curiously and he spoke, “You’re not getting away.”  

Sansa knew this wasn’t over.  She would have to tell him.  How would she?  How _could_ she?  Tell her husband that his most attractive quality was slipping away as he repeated her pregnancy app to her verbatim?  He could fuck her in front of the world, claiming her body over and over again with his touch and his seed, rendering her powerless to resist his passion.  But if he lost his edge, certainty, confidence, whatever it was about him that made him Petyr _Littlefinger_ Baelish, she wasn’t sure how long, how many years it would take before she wouldn’t want to be Sansa _Baelish._  The thought gripped her stomach and made the baby kick furiously.  She put a hand to her stomach and gave it a rub of reassurance, thinking privately, _I’m sorry, Little One.  I’m just being dramatic.  Daddy’s really the best._

The door opened and Bronn climbed in, “Limos are not exactly subtle, ya know.”  

Petyr rubbed at Sansa’s feet and she tried appear unaffected, considering the company, careful to avoid obscene sounds of pleasure.  Petyr smiled confidently, “It is no longer of note when my wife and I ride in a limo--we are fond of them.”  

Sansa smirked, knowing exactly what he was referring to.  Bronn sighed through his smile, getting right to business, “Suit yourselves.  Who am I killing, again?”  

“As discussed,” Petyr let go of Sansa’s foot for a moment and reached into his breast pocket to pull out a photo and hand it to him, “Renly Tyrell.  Husband to Loras Tyrell.”  

Bronn raised his hand, waving the information off, “I don’t care who he’s fuckin’, unless you want me to kill him too.”  He then smirked, “Or if you want me to kill him _while_ he’s fuckin’.  I always wait till they cum though, it’s just polite.”  

Petyr’s hands returned to her feet as he spoke, choosing to ignore Bronn’s candor, “On the other side of the photo is the name of the intersection that Commissioner Baratheon will have blocked off for the bust.”

“When do you want me to pop him?”  Bronn’s eyes read the address on the back.  

Petyr’s voice was casual as his fingers gently worked her toes, “As soon as you see the cuffs go on Renly, and you have a clean shot.  Do not shoot before he’s in custody.”

Sansa felt a flutter in her stomach that she knew wasn’t the baby and realized that this was exciting her; the casual way Petyr purchased Renly’s death.  He worshiped her feet as he did it, not caring how submissive it may have appeared, as he was radiating pure dominance.  That was the Petyr she knew, that was the Petyr she fell in love with.  He knew Stannis’ plans, what intersection he would be at.  He was clear about when to issue the kill shot, having planned this out.  He was doing all of this _and_ taking the time to read her pregnancy app.  She felt her chest swell with emotion.    

Bronn looked up from the back of the photo, “Calling card?”  

“Not this time.”  Petyr was quick to answer, “This has to be complete cover.  Long range, nothing tracing back to us.”  

“Gotcha.  You’re thinking Roof-Top Classic.”  Bronn answered knowingly.    

Petyr nodded and let go of Sansa’s foot.  She smiled appreciatively, trying to hide the emotion that gripped her as she watched her husband work.  If he noticed, he didn’t say anything as he picked up her other foot, and started with the balls of her feet as he had the other.  Bronn smiled, “It’s been a bit since I got to snipe.”  

“Do you need to practice?”  Sansa asked reflexively.  Petyr glanced at her and she could swear she saw the side of his mouth quirk up.  

Bronn’s smile never faltered as he replied, “No, it means I get to dig out out _Tyene_.”  

“Do I even want to know?”  Sansa asked amused.  

Bronn put the picture in his pocket and looked ahead at Sansa, dead serious, “She’s my sniper rifle.”  

“Named Tyene?”  Sansa scoffed and then closed her mouth quickly to avoid a rogue moan as Petyr’s thumbs worked her arch.    

Bronn raised an eyebrow, clearly not missing her reaction as he replied, “That woman did things...I’ll never forget.  And let me tell you; her reach was far.  So it’s just fittin’ really that her name be used for the long-range shot.  All the women who left a large enough impression on me got a gun named after them.”  

Sansa started wondering if there was a piece out there named Arya and instantly regretted the thought, feeling disgust twisting her face.  She took a breath, “Well, that was more about you than I needed to know.”  

Bronn shrugged back at her with a playful grin on his face.  He turned back to Petyr, “Ok, I’ve got the target, location, and means, what about time?  When is this all going down?”  

Petyr’s smirked as he answered, “Eight o’clock.  I convinced them to move the goods early so that most of the city would be distracted by the game.”  

“Decent alibi.”  Bronn nodded his approval of the plan.  

“Yes.”  Petyr smiled, “I believe the Lannisters will be using that one.  Sansa and I have other plans.”  

Sansa glanced over at him, curious.  She knew better than to ask right then, but wondered all the same.  He rubbed reassuring circles into her heel, pausing momentarily when Bronn’s phone chimed the theme song from Knight Rider.  Sansa gave Petyr a wary look and he sniggered back.  Bronn looked up from his phone, smiling, “That was fast.  Your man, Varys?”  

Mention of Petyr’s right hand piqued her interest.  Sansa shot a look at Petyr who nodded, “He was instructed to transfer the first half of the money at this exact time.  After you’ve finished with things, he’ll be instructed to send the other half.”  

Bronn reached for the car door, “Business as usual.  Contact me if anything changes.”  He nodded at Sansa and said, “Bye Baelishes.”  

He was barely out the door before Sansa turned to Petyr, “What are we doing?  What’s _our_ alibi?”  

“What were you thinking?”  He asked, not responding to her questions.  

Sansa pulled her foot back as she smiled, “I asked you first.”  

“Actually, I asked you first.”  Petyr gripped her foot, keeping it in place.  His grin dimpled his cheeks as he added, “And it’s a surprise.”  

Sansa laughed, “Mine is a surprise too!”  

“Liar,” Petyr teased her.  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, “Your face was too sad for it to be a surprise.  Your surprises are happy.”  

Sansa looked down at her belly, and trailed her fingers over it, knowing that she needed to tell him how she felt, but not wanting to hurt or upset him.  It was just a fleeting moment of doubt, something she didn’t feel anymore, not after seeing him with Bronn.  He gazed back at her serious expression, “That bad?”  

She sighed and made herself look up at him, “I was just worried the baby’s been too big of a distraction.”  

“Oh?”  Petyr let loose his grip on her foot, finally allowing her to put her feet back on the carpeted floor of the vehicle.  

“Yes.”  She sighed, “You decided that Renly would have to go two months ago, and you’re just now meeting with Bronn?  I thought that maybe if we both weren’t so excited for this baby, you could be more focused on work and things wouldn’t drag out.”  

“Drag out?”  Petyr cocked an eyebrow and turned to face her better.  “What’s dragging out, Sansa?  It’s not this.  If it were this, you would have said something by now.”

She felt her muscles tense as she answered, “We’re just having so much fun thinking of our future, that we aren’t seeing the things around us.”  

“Like what?”  Petyr asked again, his eyes trying to see what his ears weren’t hearing.  

Sansa was under a microscope and felt the easiest route was to meet fire with fire.  She remembered the strength that surged through her a mere hour before and she channelled that energy as she spat out, “Like taking two months to kill someone.  Or how about the fact that Margaery is back and we swore vengeance and you haven’t lifted a finger against her.  Bran is hanging out with Joffery of all people who is apparently fucking Margaery--don’t tell me that isn’t a coincidence!”  

His eyes studied her in the silence that followed her exclamation.  After a moment, he calmly answered, “All of this is true.  And yet, I fail to see the problem.”  

Sansa scoffed, “Seriously?”  

“Yes.”  Petyr slowly smiled, “You just need answers.”  He opened his arms and himself to her, “Come, let me hold you while we talk.”  

She looked back at him, her feathers ruffled.  His offer of affection eroded her apprehension and she found her muscles relaxing.  The ferocity bled out of her as she watched him pop a mint in his mouth before smiling reassuringly and waving his hand for her to come over.  

Sansa inhaled slowly and then turned around under his direction so that she could lay her back against his chest.  His arm came down around her and he kissed the top of her head, before asking, “Shall we do this in order?”

She nodded her approval.  He spoke into her hair, “I have not _just_ been sitting on the computer looking up pregnancy facts for two months.  I have also been meeting with the Tyrells and the Lannisters and Stannis.  All trying to coordinate this day.  I’ve also been dealing with The Sons of the Harpy to get the goods to use for the bust.  I’ve been dealing with the Freys to get everything across the bridge prior to the bust because Stannis picked the wrong location to block off.”  

Sansa scoffed and he chuckled down into her hair, “His incompetence is shocking, I know.  But because he already got clearance for that intersection, we are stuck with it.  The Freys are more people, more hands in the pot.  More meetings and convincing.  I’m only _just now_ meeting with Bronn because he doesn’t need to be manipulated, he’s straight forward.  Pay him and he kills who we tell him to.”  

Sansa felt guilt well within her.  She had no idea all the legwork he put into this, “Oh, Petyr.  I didn’t realize.”  

Petyr ran his hand down to her belly, stroking it lightly, “I never mentioned it.  You are right, I was distracted by the baby.  But I was too distracted to remember to tell you--not to do what needed to be done.”  He rested his cheek on her head as he said, “I also had to convince Renly to be at the deal in person when no other boss is going to be.  Luckily, he takes their business more seriously than Loras or even Margaery it seems, and so he wanted to be present.  Then the task was convincing Loras not to stay behind with him.  That took days alone as they are so tied at the hip.”  

Sansa could just picture the two men wanting to be together at the warehouse, both pretending to know more about the firearms than they did.  She hadn’t considered all the parties involved in this, but Petyr had.  Renly wasn’t some nobody, it made sense that there would be extensive work involved.  

She thought of how much they had going on: a baby on the way, Bran coming to live with them, Renly to assassinate, a hundred people to manipulate to get one thing accomplished.  Petyr remained calm through it all, looking so at ease in the chaos of everything, that she was momentarily fooled into thinking he had lost his focus.  She snuggled further into him, realizing that he was still the same man she fell for; he hadn’t lost what she was so foolishly scared he might.  

He started slowly pulling her dress up to expose her naked belly.  Feeling her womanhood exposed to the open air, Sansa grinned, “What are you doing?”  

Petyr spoke into her head, “Is your lotion in your bag?”

Of course it was.  She used it every free moment she had, deathly afraid of a stretch mark.  She nodded and reached for it, anticipating his next request.  He squeezed some in his hand before rubbing it into her belly in gentle circles, “What was next?  Margaery?”  

Sansa felt herself squint and her lips purse ever so slightly, “Yes.”  

“We’re killing Renly.  It would be too provoking for us to go for Margaery now.  We can’t be too openly hostile right now, with the baby on it’s way.  Our motions must be more subtle, it’s safer.”  Petyr explained matter-of-factly.  

“We weren’t always killing Renly.”  Sansa pushed.  

“Killing Margaery would be just as big a move as killing Renly.  That sort of thing takes time and effort.  Though she’s not my favorite person, she’s not an immediate risk to anything.”  Petyr explained as he rubbed all the lotion in big warm circles.  

Sansa’s voice was stronger than she meant it, challenging him, “Their shipments are early.  There is something going on there.”  

Petyr continued his rubbing as he spoke into the back of her head.  “There most certainly is.  And I want to find out as much as you.  But right now, they aren’t shorting us any money and, if anything, the quicker shipments are only helping.”  

Sansa sighed, rationally understanding what he was saying, but still feeling dissatisfied with his answer.  She decided to agree for the time being, “I understand.”  

He moved his hand, rubbing lotion into the other side of her belly, “Bran and Joffery are spending time together because Bran is vulnerable and Joffery thinks with his dick.”  

Sansa started to sit up, “What?!”  

Petyr laughed, “Margaery is probably telling Joffery to spend time with Bran to find out about us.  She’s probably even making him feel really smart, thinking it’s his idea.”  

Sansa felt the little hairs on her arms prickle, “And that’s not concerning?”  

“What does Bran know?  Really?  That you met your private investigator friend a couple of weeks ago?  Every family has someone who looks into someone else.  It’s not anything knew or surprising even.”  Petyr shrugged.  “And we all know that Margaery likes to weasel around.”

Sansa started thinking back, trying to determine if Bran knew anything that he shouldn’t.  He appeared in the dark, and she couldn’t help but think that was largely due to Petyr talking about family at home and keeping business at work.  He had even started to fool her with his separation.  Sansa thought to her trip to the mall, had he heard anything he shouldn’t have?  He didn’t know who Sansa was having Shae look into, and he never asked.  She felt hopeful, “I don’t think he’d tell Joffery anything even if he asked.”

Petyr ran more circles around her belly button with his thumb, “I honestly believe anything he says would be offhanded information he wouldn’t think would be harmful.  I always make sure to talk about benign things when he’s around, so that we know it’s not harmful.  And I make sure that Varys keeps him very busy.  Often times, too busy for a social life.”  

Sansa smiled and snuggled her head into his chest further, sorry that she had doubted him.  He kissed her hair and she apologized, “I’m sorry, Petyr.  I shouldn’t have thought the worst.  I just can’t stand Margaery, she’s complete and utter trash.  I can’t believe she’s fucking Joffery, and--”

“What does it matter who she’s fucking?”  Petyr interrupted, his voice held only curiosity.  

“It doesn’t, I guess.  I mean I guess it just shows how pitiful he is.”  Sansa spoke with an edge to her voice she didn’t expect and waited to see if Petyr would respond.  She pressed further, “He must really hate himself to be screwing garbage like her.”  

Petyr didn’t say anything, a quiet shrouding them before Sansa couldn’t take what his silence meant anymore and refocused, “I didn’t realize all that was involved with Renly.”  She couldn’t yet face the reality that Petyr had not agreed with her, automatically proclaiming the absurdity of ever choosing to sleep with Margaery Tyrell.  She told herself that it didn’t mean anything, he still may not have actually had sex with her that night.  Then she scolded herself, asking why would it matter if he had, it was long ago and when he was still single.  Why did she care so much?  It was an argument she had within herself more often then she would like to admit and it only made her want to rip out Margaery’s hair one clump at a time.  

“It’s okay.  You’ve been busy, creating our--” He paused and she knew it was because he was editing out the gender for her, “child.”  

She lifted his hand from her belly, gripping it in hers, “It’s not an excuse.  I can’t get so wrapped up in baby stuff that I don’t know what’s going on in our own family.  I cut that bitch tonight to show the world that I’m still a major player and I meant it.”  

Petyr brought their clasped hands up over her head so that he could kiss her fist, “My fierce wife.”  He smiled at her, “We are both thinking of our family, all the time.  We do that while we pick a pediatrician and we do that when we order a hit.  It’s not one thing or the other.  Our focus is spot on, it always has been and always will be.”

Sansa felt comforted by his words, even if she felt the lingering irritation of his earlier silence and she tilted her head up, urging him to kiss her.  His warm lips meet hers and his tongue touch her bottom lip as she felt his fingers thread in her scalp, cradling her head.  She had barely opened her eyes before she heard Petyr say, “That’s why Bran and I are going car shopping tomorrow.”  

“What?”  She stared back at his smiling face hovering over hers.  “You’re releasing some of his money?”  

Petyr shrugged, “I thought I’d just buy it for him.  He’s done so well, and he’s working now.”  

“You know what they say in recovery about big gifts.  You were the one who sent me all the articles to read.”  Sansa sat up, looking back at him.

He rolled his eyes, “Cars are not big gifts to us.  And besides, he grew up a Stark, a car is not a huge gift to him either.  I just want to be supportive.”  

“This feels impulsive.”  Sansa chided.  

Petyr stared back at her, his smile fading, “Let me?  Sometimes it’s good to do something different.  I plan all the time, can I once do something just because I feel like it?”  

Sansa thought about how good it felt to slice that whore’s mouth open and leave her on the floor bleeding, after spending her days playing nice and understood what he was getting at completely.  She sighed, “I just don’t want your one impulsive gesture per year to end up hurting my brother.”  

“If I thought it would hurt him, I wouldn’t do it.  Besides, it’s to support him getting to work.  The car is a total grocery-getter.”  Petyr assured her, reaching for her hand.  

“Really?”  Sansa liked the sound of _grocery-getter._  “What is it?”  

“Subaru,” Petyr thread his fingers into hers, firming his hold with a smile.  

She felt herself becoming more agreeable, “That _is_ a mom car.  Legacy?”  

“No,”  Petyr coughed, “WRX.”

Her eyes bulged, “What?!  Grocery-getter my ass, Petyr!”  

He kissed the back of her hand in his as he grinned back at her, “Subaru is a very reliable brand.  I want the boy to be safe.”  

“Petyr,”  Sansa eyed him.  

He lowered his head back to her hand, and looked at her from under his lashes. “Please?”  He gently bit the back of her hand and grinned mischievously.

Her heart caught in her throat, staring back at the same gravity-defying grey-green pools that captured her years before. The eyes that held such risk and yet such assurance worked in conjunction with the dimples that usually only appeared when he was looking at her. She felt too weakened to resist by the sheer magnitude of his complete attention. Rallying her strength, she held her chin up, and remembered that she was Sansa Baelish and if anyone could match him, it was her.

“I’m going to need some convincing.”  


	25. Slow Controlled Breaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's because women have been shitting out kids for centuries.

Petyr put his car in park and reached over to rub Sansa’s belly as she huffed, “This is completely unnecessary.  I know how to breathe.”

“When you’re in labor?”  Petyr asked, with a small smile.  

Sansa rolled her eyes at him, “I’m sure it’s the same concept.”   

He gripped her hand, giving her a reassuring squeeze, “Dr. Luwin said Lamaze classes would make the labor easier.”

“He should just give me the C-section like I asked.”  Sansa fumed, “Rather than insist I come here, sit on a dirty floor while my husband watches me hyperventilate to the sound of running water and frogs.”  

Petyr stared back at her, reading her face, “You know that a c-section is still considered major surgery and therefore poses a risk that we don’t need to take.”  

Sansa smiled, trying to appeal to him, “Why not?  We are all about risk.”  

Irritation flashed across his face, “It’s not something I’m willing to risk.”  

“The baby will be fine, Petyr.  It doesn’t care if it’s pushed out or cut out.”  She met his irritated expression with her own.  Why was he getting so riled anyway?  He wasn’t the one making an ass of himself in front of a room of people.    

His voice rose, not backing down, “ _I_ care!”  

She blinked at him in surprise as he continued, lips tight in frustration, “I am not willing to risk _you._ ”  

Silence hung in the air and, if he were anyone else, she would have slapped him with a jab about having faith in modern medicine.  But he wasn’t anyone else and he clearly didn’t find the method of her birthing to be something thrown around in jest.  Not knowing how to respond, Sansa looked out the window, trying to avoid the intensity of the atmosphere in the car.  

Before she had rallied her strengths to turn back to him, he reasoned in a quiet voice, “You are in perfect health.  Your body is young and strong enough to deliver this baby the _usual_ way.”  

Sansa stared down at their hands, knowing the truth in his words.  She also couldn’t deny her own anxiety as the idea of labor became more realized.  Unable to mask her feelings, she scoffed, “Yes, huffing and puffing making a fool of myself.”  

“Are you _embarrassed_?”  Petyr gently gripped her chin with his other hand, tilting her face to meet her eyes.

She tried to turn away, throwing sarcasm at him, “Yes Petyr, because I’m definitely someone who gets embarrassed by idiotic things like this.”  

“You _are_ embarrassed.”  He tried to hide his growing smile but failed.  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”  He then grinned unabashed, “I’m sure ‘hyperventilating’ in my arms is going to be less dramatic than when you are actually delivering this baby.”  

Sansa felt panic assault her insides as she pictured herself a sweaty mess, bloody and screaming.  Why did he have to say that?  She hardened her resolve, “I’ll have nothing to be embarrassed about, if no one is there to witness it.  I’ll not have you in there seeing me at my worst.  You’re not invited.”  

He barked a laugh, “You know I’m going to be there.”  

Being firm and set was not working so she decided to change tactics, “Wouldn’t you rather avoid the whole thing?  Just let them clean the baby up and present it to you in a nice warm blanket, perfect?”  Sansa smoothed her voice, offering her sales pitch as she added, “We can be traditional on some things, you know.  Really, we should respect a man’s place in the whole ordeal.  You can wait in the waiting room.  It doesn’t make you any less of a father.  Pass out some celebratory cigars?”  

Petyr sighed and brought her hand to his lips, kissing it gently, “I won’t be any less attracted to you after, if that’s what you’re worried about.  I’ve seen you at your worst before.”  

Suddenly, the memory of looking down at her blood-caked nighty as streams of red ran down the length of her legs and painted her bedroom flashed before her eyes and she swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat.  No, he hadn’t seen her at her worst.  She took a deep breath, soothing herself with the knowledge that she had spared him that.  He must have been referring to how sick she had been with her nausea.  

She refocused, trying to appear more reasonable, “Petyr, this is silly.  Lamaze just makes people feel like they are doing something.  When really, there isn’t anything for us to do, but wait for it to come.”  

His look was truly remorseful as he replied, “I didn’t realize how upset you’d be by this.  I’m sorry.”

She smiled, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders, “It’s ok.  Let’s get out of here.”

“No.  We can’t.”  Petyr looked back into her eyes, seriously.  

Feeling her weightlessness dissipate, her voice turned stern, “What do you mean?”  She knew that tonight was a very important night: Renly Tyrell’s execution.  She also knew that Petyr was being extremely attentive, making sure that they were far enough away from it.  She wanted to show him that she could be sensitive to their business concerns in this matter, “There are other alibis.”

“And we have to use this one.”  Petyr pressed, looking out the car window.  

Sansa argued, “No.  The Lannisters are at the game.  Loras and Margaery are at the benefit auction.  We could easily be _anywhere else_ but here too.  We do not need to be at Lamaze specifically.”

“We do--” Petyr leaned over her belly and pulled her car door handle, pushing it open.  Sansa looked outside and saw a motorcycle pull up to the curb.  She knew that motorcycle.   _Fuck._  He finished, “Because Arya is here.”  

“Why.”  The resignation in Sansa’s voice made it less of a question and more of a statement of victimization.  

Petyr kissed her cheek quickly as if concerned she would turn her face and bite him--which in her frame of mind, she may have.  He followed closely behind as he scooted her out of the car, “It’s important to have a backup plan.  And the hospital says you’re allowed two people in the room with you.  I assumed she would be your second.”

Sansa watched Arya pull her helmet off and her shoulder-length brown hair fall around her face.  It was typically in clumps, a testimony to how little she cared about beauty maintenance, though now it was clean and smooth.  She took off her leather coat and held it in her arm, revealing a button up shirt, untucked, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.  It was quite the replacement to the usual oversized tank top that proudly displayed the sides of her bra out the arm holes.

Sansa was also surprised to see that all the usual chains Arya adorned around her neck were gone too, replaced by a single necklace that Sansa recognized to be the mate to hers.  Years prior, for Christmas, Arya made the set for them.  Hers read _Stark Sisters Always_ and the one for Sansa read _Kick Some Ass_ on the headstamp of a shotgun shell.  Shotguns were Arya’s favorite, and given the right situation and emotion, Sansa could favor a shotgun too.  It was something they bonded over and it made the gift more meaningful.

Sansa knew it was no coincidence that Arya gave it to her the Christmas before she moved out of their parents estate, leaving Sansa with their younger brothers.  Arya gave her the one that read _Kick Some Ass_ as a silent encouragement to her, donning the shoes of head of the Stark family.  Sansa wondered if Arya kept the one that read _Stark Sisters Always_ as a reminder not to fly too far away.  

Arya was always fiercely independent, and Sansa knew she couldn’t keep her safe with her forever.  Their parents’ advisor, a lawyer by the name of Cassel, suggested that Sasna place the boys in boarding school to ensure them a solid education and so that she could better manage the family’s legitimate business: Stark Naked Art Gallery.  Sansa knew the art gallery was her mother’s pet project and ran to it, aching to feel a closeness to her.  After talking with Jon, Sansa reluctantly agreed to enroll the boys in boarding school.  He reasoned that it would get them out into the world and away from the place their parents had passed.  

Eventually, Sansa couldn’t stomach staying at the estate with the majority of her family gone.  It was too big and held too many memories, so she bought the house on Kings Road and started over with Jon by her side and the Hound in her sights.  

Presently, Sansa looked at her baby sister, returned to her.  She was rising to the occasion, causing Sansa to wish she had worn her necklace too.  Showing her love for Sansa, simply in the effort of her dress, it was clear that Arya was taking this Lamaze class seriously.  Sansa knew she had to, too.  She cleared her throat and approached Arya, “You look good.”  

Arya smiled, “Yeah, I figured being around a bunch of moms, I should dress right.”  

Petyr draped his arm around Sansa as he smiled at Arya, “Thanks for coming.”  

“No problem,” Arya nodded back at him.  She held her phone up and pointed at the time, “It’s 7:53pm.  We should probably get in there now, right?”  

Sansa grimaced and felt Petyr step forward, gently dragging her along with hm.  He hung his other arm around Arya’s shoulders casually, and sighed dramatically as he said, “Sansa thinks this is a waste of time.”  

Arya laughed, “That’s because women have been shitting out kids for centuries.”  She then pushed his arm off her shoulder and pointed at him grinning, “No touching.  I don’t trust you, Petyr.  Not after last time.”    

Sansa snickered knowingly.  Arya was referring to when he was somehow able to unhook and take a couple of chains off of her neck without her even noticing.  In fairness, she had provoked him by doubting his thieving abilities.  Petyr was a very proficient pickpocket, having to steal to survive in his youth.  As he aged, his ability to lie and steal only improved, helping him climb the ranks to his current status.  Typically, Sansa didn’t notice their age difference, knowing that he matured her as much as she dosed him with vitality.  There were times, however, when Sansa was confronted with the fact that her husband was fourteen years her senior.  He had lived a whole life while she was still in grade school.  She wondered how different he would be if she met his younger self.  Would he be everything for her that he was able to be now?    

Petyr rolled his eyes and laughed, “You’re barely wearing any necklaces for me to take.  And, I feel as though you learned not to doubt me again.  No need to rub it in.”  

“All the same--hands where I can see them.”  Arya laughed, keeping an eye on him.  

Sansa found herself chuckling and wishing Jon were there to see the two of them bantering.  He had been spending time with Ygritte more and more.  To the woman’s credit, she hadn’t brushed him off when she found out about the tongue.  That was definitely good because Sansa couldn’t promise that she wouldn’t have paid her a visit if she had.  Jon didn’t need some assistant manager of who-the-hell-cares rejecting him, and Sansa would do what she could to pay someone back for putting him through that.  

Petyr told Sansa to go ahead and give Jon the night to be with Ygritte.  After Renly was assassinated, they would need Jon on duty around the clock for a while, as everyone would be up in arms.  It was best to let him have time with his girl now.  

Petyr kept one arm around Sansa and lifted his other palm in surrender.  Arya looked it over and nodded her approval.  He continued on his original train of thought, “The doctor told us this would be helpful for when it’s time.”  

Sansa groaned, “I’m right here, you know.  You could talk directly to me if you want my opinion.”  

Arya pretended not to notice as she kept her focus on Petyr, “Oh!  Speaking of doctors, did he say if she has Diabetes or not?”  

Sansa felt irritation bubbling up, and had just opened her mouth to give them an ear full for talking around her instead of with her, when Petyr was quick to respond, “Negative, thankfully.”  

“Oh, good!  No one wants that shit.”  Arya sighed with a smile.

As the three of them walked through the main entrance, Petyr chuckled, “Hey Arya, just out of curiosity, have you seen my hands anywhere near your pockets?”

She shook her head, “No.  Your hands are usually on my sister.”  

Sansa smirked and glanced at Petyr, who grinned back, finally including her.  As they walked down the hallway to the room with the purple sign reading _Lamaze: Week One,_ Petyr asked again, “Are you sure?”  

Arya opened the door ahead of them and laughed, “Yes, I’m sure.  Why?”  

Petyr tossed Arya’s wallet at her and said, “No reason.”  

Sansa smiled proudly and slid her arm to his back, giving him an approving rub between his shoulder blades.  Arya screwed her face up in frustration, “How in the hell?”  

Petyr smirked and allowed his hand to subtly wander to Sansa’s ass for a quick squeeze when Arya turned to lead the way into the classroom.  Sansa felt a tingle of anticipation.  Petyr always got more frisky when he’d been dabbling in some of his past habits like breaking and entering, pickpocketing, killing, etc.  Between successfully pickpocketing Arya and coordinating an assassination, Sansa knew he would have a renewed vigor in the bedroom and she felt her nipples harden in expectation.    

Sansa glanced around the room, seeing it was filled with women of all stages of pregnancy, with their partners on yoga mats and pillows on the floor.  Petyr pointed ahead to an empty spot towards the back that looked large enough for all three of them.  Sansa noted immediately that she was the only person with two partners.  For a fraction of a second, she felt self-conscious of the attention it drew.  She reminded herself that attention was what she was looking for.  For it to be a strong alibi, everyone needed to see Petyr and Sansa at Lamaze, miles away from the intersection that Renly Tyrell would be executed in.    

As the instructor introduced herself and explained the benefits of Lamaze, Sansa went over the plan Petyr told her, in detail.  Eight o’clock was when Renly would be at the warehouse “supervising” the workers, and ensuring that the shipment arrived as planned.  When he had finished inspecting it, to the best of his ability, he would notify everyone.  He would send a group text to all the bosses cancelling dinner plans as code that everything was fine and they were moving the goods to the distribution point.    

Petyr had told Bronn to be on the rooftop at eight o’clock, allowing for a variance in time for Renly to examine the goods.  It was now 8:04pm and Sansa thought of Renly glancing at the crates, unsure of what he should be looking for as she heard the instructor explain, “People think towards the end of pregnancy, it is just waiting for the end.  But it’s important to understand that the last few months are actually a gradual transition into labor.  Ligaments are stretching and your hip bones are shifting, giving baby room to travel through.”  

Arya stared at the model hipbones, watching the woman pull at them.  She looked at Sansa and Petyr with an excited grin, “Shit, Sansa, you’re gonna break a hip having this kid.”  

“Helpful, Arya.”  Sansa scowled back at her.  

The instructor looked up, searching for where the whispering was coming from.  When she couldn’t determine its origin, she continued, “If we could have all the Moms on the mats and all the partners sitting behind them, being a strong support for them to lean against, that would be great.”  

Sansa had barely a second to stir before Petyr had snaked himself behind her, pulling her back against his chest.  Arya sat next to her, unsure of where to be.  The instructor walked by and smiled at the three of them, “This Momma has a lot of support!”  She looked over at Arya and pointed by Sansa’s legs, “If you want to sit down here, so that you can coach Mom, that would be very helpful.”  

Arya nodded and scooched down, diligently following directions.  The instructor talked about pelvic stretching and different things a woman could do to prepare her body for the big day.  Sansa’s eyes rolled in dismissal.  Her best defense against the anxiety of delivery day was minimization and straight up denial.  Petyr’s hand found one of her hips and he offered her a reassuring rub.  He was behind her, unable to see her facial expressions, yet somehow he knew she was struggling.  The instructor demonstrated the various stretches that Sansa could be doing and Arya playfully nudged her leg as she whispered, “Are we actually trying to stretch out your pussy?”  Then she glanced up at Petyr behind Sansa and grinned, “Fuck, that sucks for you, huh?”  

Sansa couldn’t see his face, but she could tell he was throwing Arya an exhausted expression based on how he sighed and moved against her back.  They hadn’t discussed it, but the idea that Sansa might become looser was ever present in her mind and she imagined that it was something that crossed Petyr’s as well.  She groaned in frustration at her sister and Arya smirked as she silently mouthed, “I had to.”

Petyr shifted behind Sansa and after a second he whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry, Honey--”  Sansa stiffened in alertness, they only ever called each other generic terms of endearment like _Honey_ when they needed to talk in code.  His voice relayed mild disappointment for anyone listening in, “I just got a message from Renly, he and Loras won’t be able to make it over for dinner tomorrow night.”  

Sansa glanced at Arya who cocked an eyebrow in curiosity at them, and played along with Petyr’s rouse, “That’s a shame.”  She looked to the front of the room, reading the clock, _8:16pm_.  They were on the move.  Petyr had timed how long it would take for him to get to the intersection.  Carrying all the illegal goods, the cars would be traveling at the speed limit, careful to not be noticed.

“The key here is _slow--controlled--breaths._ ”  The instructor passed by and Sansa smiled back as if she was not secretly, mentally, spectating a murder across town.  Petyr kissed her shoulder and moved his fingers on her back so no one would see, pressing into her with eight digits.  Eight _minutes_ till they hit the Frey Bridge.  

That wasn’t it’s real name, but no one, Sansa included, remembered what it really was.  It was always referred to as Frey Bridge.  But everyone knew who owned it, what palms needed greasing.  Petyr made it happen, he always made it happen.  Sansa hid her proud smile, thinking of how her husband always came through.  

Arya turned and smiled, “Shit this stuff is easy.”  

Petyr chuckled over Sansa’s shoulder, “You probably shouldn’t say that to her.”  

Sansa scowled, “Right now.  Right now it’s easy, Arya.  It won’t be later.”

Arya laughed and then said, “It’s the same shit you do for any pain.  Not just ‘push a kid through your kootch’ pain.  I did the same thing for all my tattoos.”  

“You did Lamaze?”  Sansa couldn’t help but poke back at her.

“I guess,” Arya shrugged.  She slapped her shoulder, “That’s what I did for this beaut.”  

“Your faceless man?”  Petyr grinned over her shoulder.  Arya had her tattoo for a couple of years and due to all the sleeveless shirts she wore regularly, it was a well-known part of her.  Sansa checked the clock, _8:24pm._

They were at the bridge.  Assuming there was zero traffic, they would be able to zoom over it to their destination in no time.  It was past rush hour.  But, it being a Friday night, traffic was expected.  Sansa knew it was going to be another fourteen minutes minimum for Renly and the rest of their crews to pull up to the ambush intersection.

Arya nodded, “Yeah.”  

Trying to change the subject, Sansa asked, “What is that tattoo all about anyway?”  

Arya offered a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she said, “It changes.”  She looked at Petyr and hesitated for a moment, clearly determining whether or not it was something she wanted to discuss in front of him.  After a pause, she offered in a quiet voice, “Sometimes, he’s the guy who killed Mom and Dad.”  

Sansa felt needles and pins stab her body, as her eyes widened at Arya.  She was surprised that Arya would say that outloud in a public place.  She was also surprised to have the subject brought up at all.  After all, the man was dead.  Sansa had killed him herself.  And since then, there hadn’t been much occasion for the subject to come up in conversation.  Her sudden apprehensiveness did not go unnoticed as Arya moved on, “Sometimes, he’s the man I’m going to marry some day.  Sometimes, he represents every man that’s ever let me down and left me high and dry.”

“Cheerful,” Petyr snarked.  

Sansa leaned back into him, offering a silent nudge to be quiet.  Petyr pushed his face into the back of her head, and she felt him inhale the smell of her hair.  Not noticing their subtle intimacies, Arya chuckled, “That’s me.  A fucking parade of happy over here.”

The instructor stopped before them, and smiled down at Sansa, “How far along are you?”  

“Twenty-five weeks,” Sansa responded politely.  

The instructor enthused, “You’re over halfway there!”  She looked at Petyr and then over at Arya, “Will all of you be in the delivery room?”  

Petyr nodded and said, “Yes.”  

Arya glanced sideways at Sansa and hesitated to answer the woman.  Sansa took a deep breath and sighed in resignation, smiling as she answered, “Yes.  All _three_ of us will be there.”  

Petyr gently squeezed his grip on her, silently approving of her willingness to allow Arya a place in the delivery room.  Arya grinned from ear to ear and said, “I wouldn’t miss it.”  

Sansa felt herself smiling too.  She had wanted to be so strong, not needing anyone, not letting anyone see her so vulnerable.  She hadn’t realized in her quest to preserve her pride, she was depriving herself of people she loved and drew strength from.  

Deciding to engage with renewed vigor, Sansa practiced the controlled breathing with Arya _coaching_ and Petyr holding her.  She knew she shouldn’t be, but she was still so self-conscious of how silly it looked to pretend to be in pain that needed controlling.  That pain could be controlled at all was not something Sansa was entirely convinced of.  

Sansa eyed the clock again, _8:36pm._  In two more minutes, Renly would be at the intersection.  That’s if traffic was slow.  If it was faster, he may already be there.  

Sansa felt her stomach flip at the idea that he may already be at the destination point.  She closed her eyes, breathing along with the instructor and the other women as she pictured it.  Renly would be rolling up to the police blockade, unable to go anywhere.  It was Renly, so he would probably sit in the car for a moment too long, not sure what to do.  He was terrible at thinking on his feet.  Loras was too.  They really were made for each other.  Sansa reached a hand back and gripped Petyr’s shin, needing to touch the man that was made for her.  She never felt good about this, murdering half of a whole.  But it was business, and feeling good about it was not a requirement.  

Sansa’s phone vibrated and she pulled it out to read the group message from Renly, _Visiting my brother, no idea when I’ll be back for dinner._  Sansa closed her eyes and heard Petyr whisper his consolation in her ear, “It’s for the best.”  

She nodded, silently refusing to open her eyes and see the clock.  She didn’t want to follow along anymore, and yet she knew she couldn’t stop herself from knowing.  Renly’s code told her that he had arrived, saw the police surrounding him and knew that he was getting pulled in.  Naively enough however, he thought he was just getting arrested.  Everyone thought that, except for the Baelishes.   In his last moments alive, Renly was warning the families that the shipment was compromised.  Whatever shady dealings Margaery had going with their shipments, Renly showed such integrity--if only he knew he was getting doublecrossed.

Stannis would be on a bullhorn calling him out, telling him to step out of the vehicle and put his hands on his head.  The street lights and flashing blues would illuminate Renly’s face as he smiled back at Stannis in surprise.  For years it had been unsaid, but expected all the same, that the brothers would skirt around each other on their own sides of the law.  Renly would be rattled to be arrested at all, let alone by his own brother.  

Sansa had only met Stannis a couple of times at various charity events, but she would guess that he would maintain his intensity.  He would stare ahead, looking through his brother, determined to be unaffected by what he was doing.  Then again, he didn’t truly understand what he was doing, what would happen when the cuffs slid around Renly’s wrists.  

Sansa wondered if Stannis would carry the arrest out by the book, knowing that so many eyes would be watching this particular arrest by this particular lawman.  Or, would he fudge something on purpose so that Renly’s lawyer could free him easier?  Stannis never truly wanted to arrest his brother, he just wanted the cash for his kid.  Sansa rubbed her belly and thought about the things they would do for their little one.

The instructor raised her voice for everyone to hear, “How many people have seen movies or shows with a woman in labor?”  

She waited for people to raise their hands.  Arya was one of the first, enthusiastic.  Sansa felt Petyr’s hand go up behind her, and she smiled at how engaged he was before raising her own.  The instructor smiled, “We all have, haven’t we?  I bet we’ve all heard the woman screaming bloody murder.”  

 _Interesting choice of words,_ Sansa thought to herself as she pictured Renly on the ground, blood pouring from him.  She shook the image from her head as she listened to the woman laugh and say, “Try not to.”  

The room collectively laughed and Arya turned to Sansa, and whispered, “Hear that?  No pissing and moaning.”  She winked after to show that she was kidding.  

Petyr’s palm slid around and rubbed the side of Sansa’s belly.  She knew he wanted to reassure her, but he also wanted to feel the baby so she pushed his hand away and brought it to the other side of her belly, where the child stirred slowly.  It had been still for a couple of hours and she wondered if it was just waking up.  She felt him smile into her neck, and she thread her fingers through his and squeezed his hand.  

The instructor explained, “It takes a lot of energy to scream.  Energy that you’ll need to push.  Just _breathe.”_

A stout woman towards the front, surrounded in pillows, laughed and said, “As if we would forget.”

The instructor laughed back and said, “You’d be surprised.  It can be very hard to remember to breathe when you feel the contractions hitting you in strong waves, all working to soften and efface your cervix.”  She then gestured to some partners throughout the room, “That’s where your partner comes in.  Breathing.  You are all going to remind Moms how to breathe when they forget.”  

Sansa whispered back to Petyr, “If you tell me to breathe, I will stab you.”  

“Will you twist the blade?”  He snarked into her ear, mint filling her nostrils.  

She raised her hand to his face, petting his cheek and rubbing her thumb on his goatee as she answered, “Never doubt it.”  

Arya hadn’t noticed their private display, too rapt in attention to the woman talking.  Her voice carried through the room, “Partners, you will be the metronome that Mom sets her breathing to.”  

Sansa squinted in disbelief.  Was she using music analogies for the excruciating pain of childbirth?  Sansa rolled her eyes and thought of Renly again.  She decided that if Stannis fudged the arrest, it wouldn’t be on purpose.  It would truly just be his incompetence.  The clock read, _8:47pm._

Was Renly dead yet?  What was taking so long.  Was he resisting arrest?  No.  Renly wouldn’t have the courage to do such a thing.  Or the stupidity.  As Petyr rubbed circles into her back, Sansa pictured Renly slowly exiting the vehicle, hands raised in the air.  Would the brothers talk?  Would Renly grin at Stannis and crack a joke, expecting to be released from custody within an hour and into his loving Loras’ arms?  Would Stannis tighten his face in determination and approach him, telling him to shut up?  Or would he not respond at all and instead stick to the Miranda Rights?  

Sansa pictured Renly crack a joke about watching out for his Rolex as Stannis wrapped the stainless steel links around his wrists.  Would it be instant?  The kill shot.  Would Bronn wait until they started to walk towards the police cars, or would it be the second that the cuffs touched Renly’s skin?  She was sure he would take the soonest opportunity he could, that was what Petyr had instructed.

Sansa took another deep breath in through her nostrils along with the class, as she thought of Bronn on a rooftop with Tyene, cloaked in all black--a shadow in the night.  Sansa wondered if Renly would be looking at Stannis’ face when he was speared through the heart by the enigmatic shadow.  Would Stannis react, offering something other than the hard and unmoving expression he wore constantly?  Would his eyes widen and his jaw drop in shock as he watched his little brother fall to the ground, still bound in the cuffs he fastened?  Would the man stand there staring at the life force escape Renly or would he drop to the ground, quickly taking the cuffs off him?  Would his honor prevent him from allowing his brother to die defenselessly?

Sansa felt Petyr’s phone buzz behind her and he whispered, “Don’t let me forget to pay the gardener.”  

It was done.  However it happened, it was done.  “Pay the gardener” was code for whenever Bronn called for payment on a job completed.  Sansa couldn’t picture Bronn packing his gun and running, as she had never actually seen the man run.  It was as though he could disappear into thin air when needed.  She looked up at the clock and read, _8:56pm._  Class was almost over, women were starting to stand.  Arya and Petyr both jumped up and reached for her.  Sansa waved them off, not allowing her pregnant belly to disable her.  She knew it was only going to keep growing and didn’t want to accept the help prematurely, or at all.  

The instructor dismissed them, asking that they all roll up the mats and put the pillows away if they hadn’t brought their own.  Petyr wrapped his arms around Sansa and kissed the side of her head.  She knew he was trying to comfort her, and she was letting him.  She hated how affected she felt, actually fighting back a tear at the image of Renly’s playful smile turning lifeless on the pavement.  Suddenly, loud music chimed in Petyr’s pocket, “ _The mighty trumpet brings the freaks out to the floor!”_

Sansa startled a little bit and looked back at Petyr, curiously.  Arya’s face grew red and she gritted her teeth, “How in the hell?!”  

Petyr’s laugh was uninhibited as he pulled the phone with a blue wolf’s head on the back out of his pocket and handed it to her, “You should have been paying attention.”  

“I was!”  Arya exclaimed in irritation.  

Petyr chuckled again and Sansa found herself smiling as she teased Arya, “ _The mighty trumpet?”_

They had turned to leave and Arya shrugged, “I like the beat.”  

“When it drops?”  Petyr asked, grinning as he lead them through the door and into the hall.  

Arya laughed, “You know Timmy Trumpet?”  

Petyr grinned at her playfully, “I know a lot of things.”  

Sansa felt pride swell in her chest as she thought, _Yes, he does._  She flashed him a grin and he gripped her hand, bringing it up to his lips for a quick kiss.  

Arya glanced around them making sure no one was around as she read her text message and smiled, “Shellfish.  It was an easy job.”  

Sansa cocked an eyebrow at Arya in question.  Petyr opened the door to the outside and they stepped onto the sidewalk as Arya spoke, “Bronn took a job for someone.  I snooped what gear he was taking for it and I saw Tyene--sorry, one of his longer range... _tools._ ”  

It was Petyr now who affected curiosity, “Oh?”  

Arya chuckled, “Yeah.  If it was a big haul, he’ll usually feel like a king and ask me out to dinner.  Shellfish means it was an easier job, in and out.  One and done sort of thing.  If he asked me out for steak, I’d know it was rugged and he had to work for his cash.”  

Sansa made herself laugh lightly, regardless of the weight she felt, “Steak?”  

Arya laughed, “The bloodier, the better.”  

“But you said it was shellfish though, right?”  Sansa clarified, taking some minor comfort in the fact that Renly’s death was not _rugged._

Arya grinned and nodded, “He’s very skilled.  I’ve learned a lot from him.”

Petyr’s phone buzzed repeatedly and he answered it, walking a couple of steps away from them.  Sansa felt irritation itch under her skin.  Her and Petyr were never transparent with Arya, probably the most trustworthy of her siblings, because she explicitly said that she wanted nothing to do with the life.  Yet, assassinations were a part of it.  Arya could dip her toe in this world for Bronn; a weathered piece of ass on the side?  But she drew the line at Sansa and Petyr?

Sansa had never understood Arya’s relationship with Gendry or Bronn, but usually left it alone.  Tonight, however, feeling a touch hurt, Sansa felt an edge creep into her voice as she dug at her, “Gendry must be out of town then?”  

Arya raised an eyebrow at her, no doubt recognizing her change in tone, “No.”  She searched Sansa’s face for understanding.  Whether she found it or not, Sansa couldn’t be sure as Arya continued, “And he’s not fucking waiting for me with a shitty dinner gone cold, if that’s what you’re getting at.”    

Only when Sansa took a deep breath did she realize that all of the muscles in her body were tight in tension.  She forced the judgement and irritation from her face and calmed, “No.  I don’t know what I was getting at.  Sorry.”  

Arya eyed her for a moment and then wrapped one arm around her in a side hug, “Forget it.  Babies fuck with your head.”  

Sansa laughed feeling the truth to that statement.  She still felt uneasy with just how close to their business Arya was, without actually being included.  Trying to shake out of it, Sansa smiled and said, “So, expensive dinners after _work_ , huh?”  

Arya chuckled, “Yeah, he’s learned.”

“Learned?”  Sansa asked, looking at Petyr, just then noticing how he kept one hand in his pocket and head tilted to the side.  She glanced down to see one foot cocked to the side as well and knew he was uncomfortable.  Something was wrong.

Arya’s voice sounded off in a distance as she explained, “Yeah, one time that fucker bought me a slushie and called it dinner.  Needless to say, he hasn’t pulled any shit like that since.”  

Sansa smiled at her sister’s anecdote but kept laser focus on Petyr, trying to hear what he was saying.  She felt a buzz and pulled her phone out to see a message from Cersei, _Not what I expected, but makes sense._

She was referring to Renly’s death.  Petyr never shared this part of the plan with the Lannisters.  She knew that it was for deniability if necessary, and afterwards, he could say that it was a surprise.  Jaime would find it to be a thoughtful gift from the Baelishes, one that only strengthened the alliance between their families.  

Sansa had just looked back at Petyr, watching him end his call when her phone buzzed again, _I just heard.  I’m sorry, Little Dove._

Sorry.  Sorry for what?  What was going on?  Apparently, Arya noticed the change in Petyr’s demeanor too as she noted, “He doesn’t look happy.”

“No.  Something’s not right.”  Sansa felt her muscles tense in awareness and the baby kick furiously at her belly button.  

He kept his expression neutral as he walked towards her.  Mid-stride, Petyr stopped and watched as Varys’ midnight blue Ford Taurus pulled up to the curb beside them.  Sansa glanced over, confirming that Varys was in fact, in the driver seat.  “Petyr, what’s going on?”  

He reached for her, pulling her into a hug as he spoke calmly, “Varys is going to take you home.  Call Jon to stay with you.”  

“What?”  Sansa felt her voice raise.  

Arya’s eyebrows furrowed, “What the fuck’s going on?  You’ve got creepy-calm voice.  Shit’s not okay.”  

Petyr turned Sansa and walked her towards the car, opening the passenger side door as he tried to assure her, “It’s going to be okay, I’m going to take care of it.”  

“What is ‘it’?”  Sansa wouldn’t get into the car until he answered.  Arya followed behind, listening for Petyr’s answer.  

He leaned forward and kissed Sansa’s forehead, looking away as he said, “I don’t know how this happened, but I will fix it, I--”  

Sansa gripped his chin and pulled him to face her.  Judging by how uncomfortable he was, how _accountable_ he was, she knew she would need to look him in the eye.  Her voice deepened as she directed him, “ _Tell me_.”  

He sighed and let his eyes find hers as he uttered, “Bran’s been arrested.”

 


	26. Miranda Rights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I told you Bran, no fucking the staff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks go out to greedisgreen for showing me the awesomeness that is Barbrey Dustin. She was definitely fun to write and I never would have thought of her if you didn't tell me about her! 
> 
> Also major thanks to Faradaze for slogging through this chapter with me -- it was a long edit and I couldn't be more appreciative of her stamina. And the Miranda Rights were totally her idea, wasn't it awesome?!

Petyr stared back into Sansa’s eyes, her face completely crestfallen.  He wished he hadn’t told her, though he knew the truth couldn’t be avoided.  She would learn of it eventually, but the reality of that didn’t make telling her any easier.  She cleared her throat and spoke in a heavy lead voice, “Bring my brother home.”

“I will fix this,” He told her again as he leaned in for a quick embrace, kissing her ear before letting her go.  Petyr knew nothing of how Bran got in this predicament, yet still felt responsible for it.  Was Sansa blaming him as well?  It was at Petyr’s insistence that they take him in, and offer him work.  Petyr had pushed her to take on this responsibility, would she be disappointed in him now for it?

He had wanted a family so badly that perhaps he was shortsighted in insisting that Bran live with them, regardless of how surprisingly pleasant it had been.  Bran’s humor was a great counter to Sansa’s seriousness, and he was still young and impressionable enough to learn from them.  Or so Petyr thought he was.  Beyond the charm, Bran was _appreciative_.  Since being in recovery, he was thankful for everything they had done for him.  Or so Petyr thought he was.

Petyr’s memory flashed quickly to the look on Bran’s face when the gun-metal color WRX pulled up and the driver tossed the keys to him.  Fingering the keys, Bran glanced over at Petyr.  Incredulously, he asked if he was serious.  Petyr remembered smiling back at him and nodding his affirmation.  It was a good night.

Bran was genuine that night, and all the others that he had spent in their home.  They had put some trust in him and Petyr wasn’t entirely convinced that it was misplaced.  Bran was too into his recovery to screw up, and too into becoming a part of the family again.  Seeing him talking with Sansa about the baby, and the future he was planning on, being Uncle Bran-Flakes, told Petyr that Bran was staying straight.  So then, what the hell happened?

Petyr knew that he should leave immediately, but needed to put his wife in the car himself.  Everything around him felt so unstable.  Bran getting arrested was not part of the plan.  The plan was to assassinate Renly Tyrell and that was all.  While Petyr knew it would cause crisis amongst the families as they frantically searched for footing, he did not anticipate the curve ball of Bran’s arrest creating a crisis of his own.

All the families would be in lock-down now, sequestering themselves in their little fortresses.  Any time a hit was carried out on a boss, everyone kept their own safe at home for a little while, avoiding the wrath of the injured family.  The Tyrells had been amputated a member and may lash out at anyone in sight, creating a mad scurry for everyone to find cover.  The Tyrells would want to protect their remaining bosses as they sent footmen out in all directions.  The Lannisters would steer clear of the fray and the Baelishes would, as well, to avoid suspicion and unnecessary risk.

While everyone ran around in the anxious climate, Petyr would bathe comfortably in the chaos that would follow the carrying out of a well-laid plan.  He would grin from ear to ear and rub the belly of his pregnant wife before he proudly buried his cock inside her, proving yet again his potency.  Tonight was supposed to be a victory feasted upon and relished in.

Instead, Petyr felt some rungs in his ladder break out from under him.  Bran was arrested, showing boss families weren’t protected from the law anymore either.  Renly’s arrest was a setup, something planned between Stannis and Jamie.  Petyr knew that it was never truly meant to be carried out.   _This_ was carried out though, set up or not.

At a time when Petyr wanted nothing more than to hold his wife close, he was sending her off.  It was to keep her safe, yes.  But it was also to allow him the room to stretch, _flex._  He needed to fix this, and the only way to do that was to tap into the most capable side of himself: Littlefinger.  He watched Sansa swing her legs into the car.  She rested her arms over her belly and told him, “This child is the only thing stopping me from joining you.  You know that, don’t you?”

Petyr nodded, mouthing, “I know,” before he closed the door.  Petyr offered her a smile through the window, feigning confidence she would see through.

It’s not that he wasn’t confident in his ability to handle whatever situation arose, it was in whether or not he could make himself part from her, when all he wanted to do was be there supporting her.  She and Bran had just begun to mend long-broken fences.  Petyr had no idea how severe of an impact this would have.  He looked back at Arya, putting her helmet on as she straddled her bike.  She assured him, “I’ll follow them back to the house and stay with her.  She’ll be okay.”  Petyr was about to turn to leave when Arya’s voice raised, “Petyr?”  He looked up at her as she continued, “Don’t let my brother go to jail--he’ll be someone’s bitch.”

Petyr scanned her face, but did not detect an ounce of humor in it.  She was serious.  Bran was not a big man, it made sense that she may fear for that.  Petyr didn’t have the time to tell her that no one would dare touch Bran, not now that he was connected to Littlefinger.  It had been many years since Petyr had been in jail, but he knew his name still carried some weight.  Then again, someone dared to arrest him in the first place…

Petyr nodded his head at her and quickened his step to his car.  He had barely closed the door before he was shifting gears and speeding off.  He watched in the rearview as Varys’ Taurus pulled away from the curb and headed back in the opposite direction.  The nearest car ahead of him was a few spaces up, so he pushed the gas peddle further as he glanced up in the mirror again, watching Arya’s bike turn around and follow Varys.

He thought of Sansa in the passenger seat, holding her hands over their daughter as she worried about Bran.  He pictured the wrinkle in her forehead when she was scared and the slight turn of her mouth, not quite a frown, but not the neutral facade she was used to wearing in public.  Sansa could be cunning and cutthroat, to say the least, but she was not without feeling.  Though she would easily rip someone’s heart out in the ultimate display of dominance and power, hers was one of the biggest he’d ever encountered.  It wasn’t what drew him to her, but it was definitely part of the package that kept him there, by her side.  The surest way to wound one of the hardest women he knew was to harm her family.  He could not allow that to happen.  Not to Sansa, his wife, his _woman._

Petyr cursed as he wrestled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the best person in his list of contacts that could help him: Barbarous Barbrey.  She was the city’s most relentlessly ruthless lawyer, sociopathic in her quest to win cases.  Any concern Petyr had about the instability of the city around him would be abated under Barbrey’s legal counsel.

“Baelish,” He could hear a smile in her voice, aged and raspy from smoking.

He knew to suspect the woman of anything and everything as his voice hardened and the mask of Littlefinger fell into place, “You were expecting my call?”

“Only ten percent,” she grinned over the phone.

“Ten percent?”  Petyr couldn’t stop from asking, instantly chiding himself for getting off topic.

She clarified, “I factored about a ten percent chance that you would be caught.  To your credit, I factored a ninety percent chance that you would get off scot free and there would never be a call.  When I saw your name come up, I was _ecstatic_.  It’s regretful that you were caught, but I do love a worthy case.”

“I don’t know what you are referring to.”  Petyr’s would not be moved by her vote of confidence.

The older woman barked a laugh before she said, “Of course.  Plausible deniability.  It’s admirable that you try.  I happen to be at the benefit auction right now.  Loras is a mess, but that’s to be expected.”

Petyr pursed his lips and lied, “What are you talking about?”

Again, she barked a laugh, “It’s all over the news.  Everyone knows about Renly.  Not knowing about it only substantiates your guilt.”  She sighed, “Honestly, _Littlefinger,_ it’s a compliment that my first thought was you.  No one else has the brass or the brains to kill a boss.”

Petyr gritted his teeth hating how transparent the situation was.  He reminded himself that it was Barbrey.  She saw through things that others didn’t.  Petyr comforted himself with the knowledge that no one else would be as astute and Barbrey wasn’t one to divulge anything.  The lines of loyalty between Littlefinger and Barbarous Barbrey were drawn and hardened in cement for years, literally.

Their mutual respect formed the night that Petyr helped her dispose of her husband’s body.  He had stopped by her house with the intention of strongly motivating her to be his lawyer after he had watched her fancy work get one of his associates out of a lengthy sentence.  When he got there the woman had blood splattered all over her blouse and was drinking a glass of wine as she leaned against the kitchen counter.  Her husband’s body on the tile floor, motionless at her feet.

Petyr saw an opportunity to own her in that moment, and he seized it.  He approached slowly, asking no questions, simply instructing her.  She stared back at him for a moment, assessing him, even through her shock.  After time had stretched on, she nodded her head and set her glass down.  Silently, they worked together, cutting up William Dustin into more manageable pieces and bagging him.  Petyr loaded the bags in the trunk of his car to dispose of.  Even in the thick smog of fresh, unplanned, passionate murder, Barbrey was cognizant enough to know the danger in allowing someone else to handle disposal, “I’m coming with you.”

Petyr had known already that he wanted her to work for him; the calm way she followed his instructions and worked beside him confirmed it.  However, it was her foresight in not allowing Petyr to dispose of her crime solely that made his decision indelible.  He allowed her to accompany him and the two drove off to a deserted warehouse.  As they dumped the bags into some waste barrels, pouring concrete into them, Barbrey said calmly, “You can’t make me work for you because of what you know.  You’ve become an accessory in helping.”

Petyr shrugged, “I know that.  I’m hoping, however, that because we now share an ugly truth together perhaps you will consider being the first number I call whenever I have need of a lawyer.”  He knew that he would pursue her and that if she truly declined, he would force her or end her.  His decision was made.  He also knew that people needed to feel like they had a choice.

Barbrey took one last look at the waste barrels before she answered in a measured tone, “Provided that you are the first person I call when things like this happen.”

Tit for tat.  Littlefinger remembered smiling at her and asking, “Do they happen often?”

She unexpectedly laughed out loud, the rasp of her voice marked it in his memory.  Petyr drove her back home in silence.  When she moved to get out of the car, her hand still on the handle she turned to him.  It was then that she said, “I did love him.  I think.  I’ve never really been sure what love is.  But I think he may have been it.”

Petyr had wanted to ask her more, ask what happened, ask how someone like Barbrey Dustin could kill William Dustin and drink wine over his corpse.  Instead, Littlefinger gave a quick smirk and said, “All I’ve ever seen of love is weakness and stupidity.  Be thankful you’re strong and wise.”

That was before Sansa, of course, before he knew what love really was.  Hearing someone say, “Mrs. Baelish” filled him with strength.  By taking his name, accepting his possession of her, and his complete and utter devotion to her until the day she died, made him more powerful than any other man in the city.  Saying _Mrs. Baelish_ was stronger than saying _love_.  What he felt for his wife did not make him stupid or weak.  It caused his focus on fiercely protecting her to sharpen, making him an unstoppable force.

Lost in his memories, Petyr hadn’t noticed the pause in conversation until Barbrey filled it, “So, if you are not confessing your hand in Renly, that tells me that you have not been caught.  To what do I owe the honor of your call?”

Petyr sighed as he sped down the road, “My brother-in-law got picked up.”

“For the murder?”  Barbrey mused over the phone.

“No.  It’s doubtful.  I was told that he was arrested in the bust.”  Petyr couldn’t imagine what would possess Bran to be there.  He ran through the various scenarios in his head, and finally he admitted, “He is an addict… it’s possible he relapsed.”

He could hear the woman sigh, “Addicts aren’t hard to get out of jail.  Especially if they are lumped in with others in large busts.”

Littlefinger felt frustration growing in his chest, “I didn’t ask how difficult it would be.”  He knew that having Barbrey retrieve Bran would draw too much attention.  The lawyer had made quite a name for herself and heads would turn when she walked into the station.  “I want you to recommend a lawyer who can get him out.”

“I’d be offended you’re not requesting my services specifically, if I didn’t know better.”  Her voice sounded less amused, though it still contained a smirk, “Don’t want to waste me on something petty when you know that I’m destined for bigger things?”

Barely looking over his shoulder, Petyr switched lanes as he responded, “You would draw more attention than a lesser counselor would.”

He heard the woman sigh, “Very true.  Fine.  There are a lot of other lawyers at this auction.”

“Any you’d suggest?”  Petyr asked, growing impatient.

She didn’t bother to hide her disgust as she judged, “Most of them are wretched.”

Petyr fumed audibly into the phone.  She then laughed lightly, “You’ll never guess who’s here.”

“ _Barbrey_ ,” Petyr warned, in no mood for games.

She inhaled and he knew she was smoking, “Alright, fine.  It’s Tarly.  I believe your wife hired him a few years back.”

Petyr remembered the name and the face, though he had never dealt with the man directly.  He had wanted Sansa to let him offer her a lawyer, knowing he would sic Barbrey on the opposition for her.  But at the time Sansa wouldn’t allow it, insisting that she hire her own.  The result was Tarly, which luckily worked out because the man had managed to win the case for her.  Petyr remembered how innocent and unsuspecting the man looked in passing, not hardened like other lawyers.  Petyr found himself second guessing Barbrey, “Him?”

Winning an inheritance was one thing.  Getting Bran off of whatever charges they had him on was another entirely.  She took another drag into the phone as she confirmed, “He’s not much to look at, and his way is _subtle_ , but yes.  I would put Baby-Face-Tarly on this.”

Littlefinger turned his car in the direction of the benefit auction and punched the accelerator, “I hope you are not playing games with me.”

She smiled into the phone, “I am not.  I can tell you’re in no mood for it.  If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been quietly scoping out Tarly for a while now.  I’ve been deciding whether I want to make him an offer to join my firm.”

If Barbrey wanted the man for her firm, he had to be good.  Petyr started realizing another consideration and asked, “Are Loras and Margaery still there?”

The lawyer chuckled, “No.  They left, too distraught.  You’re saved an encounter.”

Petyr felt relieved at that as he warned her, “I’ll be there in less than ten minutes.”

She smirked into the phone, reminding him of his manners as only an older woman could, “You’re welcome, Baelish.”

He hung up and thought about Tarly as he sped down the road.  It was usually the law abiding citizens that recognized Petyr as Littlefinger the most.  From what he remembered Sansa saying of the man, he was honest and good.  Perhaps he was far enough from corruption to be intimidated into working for _Littlefinger_ \--at a moment’s notice.

While he was now feeling more confident in Tarly, Petyr still wished it were Barbrey handling the situation.  He knew using her would be overkill, but it would have been the more comfortable move in the moment.  He reminded himself that you don’t bring Johnny Cochrine to bail your brother-in-law out of the drunk tank.  That was assuming that’s where he was, anyway.  FBI would be involved in organized crime.  But this was supposed to be Stannis’ project, perhaps he was able to keep the higher authorities out of it.  Sloppy and careless detectives like Stannis didn’t climb their way up to commissioner without some level of political savvy.  

When Varys called Petyr to tell him that Bran had been arrested, Petyr’s first thought was to question: why?  Where?  How?  Varys confirmed that Bran was picked up with all the other workers helping transport the busted shipment, and Petyr almost asked him to repeat himself.  Bran was purposefully kept out of the loop on things like these, how could he be there?

Petyr knew that Varys was keeping Bran on more benign jobs, he would never let him join the crew for this particular work.  To even be there, Bran had to have snuck away from whatever Varys had him assigned to.  It had to have been intentional.  Bran got himself into this mess.  Why?

No sooner than he had asked himself that question, he was pulling up to the auction.  Barbrey was outside with Tarly, clearly serving the lesser lawyer up on a platter for Littlefinger.  The portly man with the innately innocent face was lighting the cigarette that hung from Barbrey’s mouth.  She was a dark angular figure that Petyr sometimes called “the angel of death” in his head.  Barbrey grinned wide as Petyr hopped out of his car, walking around to open the passenger door for Tarly.  Cutting right to the point, Littlefinger issued an order to the man, “Get in.”

Samwell Tarly, Esq. looked back at him, mouth agape.  Barbrey linked her bony arm in his and walked him to Petyr’s car door.  She smiled at Tarly as she warned through her teasing, “He doesn’t hurt, usually.  Going with him is the better choice.  People who don’t usually regret it.”

Petyr cocked an eye at her and she shrugged her shoulders and said, “I figured I’d be generous and get him for you.  You sounded rushed.”

Tarly stood at the door, looking between Barbrey and Petyr before he nervously cleared his throat, “You’re, you’re Litt-- Mr. Baelish.  All due respect, sir, you are not a client of mine.  Why would you expect me leave here with you?”

Losing his patience, Petyr pursed his lips and flared his nostrils before he deepened his voice, “You know who I am.  Do you really need any more convincing?  You’re a smart man, you passed your Bar.”

Whether it was that the man finally decided to value his life or if it was pure intimidation that had taken over his body, Petyr did not know.  But he was thankful to watch Tarly load himself in the car.  Wasting no time, Petyr ran around to the driver side and got in.  He watched through the windshield as Barbrey blew them a kiss and laughed.

As they sped down the road, Petyr explained, “My brother-in-law was picked up and I want you to get him out.”

“Picked up for what?” Tarly asked as he gripped the door handle.

Petyr maneuvered the car swiftly, not looking up from the road, or caring for the roughness of the ride as he spoke, “He was arrested when Stannis Baratheon was busting a large shipment of firearms.”

Tarly must have forgotten his fear because he openly scoffed, “The bust that’s been all over the news?  The one where Renly Tyrell was murdered?”

Petyr stayed silent, weaving in and out of lanes, racing to the police station.  His thoughts drifted back to Sansa, probably pacing in her office.  Tarly tried again, “Did your brother-in-law kill him?  Wait.  Don’t tell me.  This isn’t my case.  Neither of you are my clients.”

Littlefinger glared at him, a low growl escaping him as he responded, “No, he did not kill him.”  He turned his attention back to the road as he explained for what felt like the hundredth time, “He was arrested with everyone else that got picked up.  As far as I know.”  Bran must have been in custody for about an hour now and it was an hour too long.

Tarly turned and offered a sheepish smile, “You mean, you just want me to get him out of police custody?”

“Mm,” Littlefinger felt too annoyed to speak.  He knew that Tarly was lesser than Barbrey, but was surprised at just how slow the man appeared compared to the woman.

As if he didn’t notice the tension in the car, Tarly’s voice contained some hope, “And his only offense was being at the wrong place at the wrong time?”

Petyr gave him a sidelong look as he parked the car in front of the police station, “Probably.”

He was already out of the car, watching through the windshield as Tarly fumbled with the belt buckle and opened the passenger door.  Petyr started to walk up the steps before he heard Tarly clear his throat and say, “Little--Mr. Baelish.”

Feet still on the steps, Littlefinger turned his head, deliberately slow, feeling impatient in his need to get Bran, he hissed, “ _What?_ ”

Tarly’s eyes grew wide in fear.  In a higher voice than he may have meant, he stood his ground, “I will get your brother-in-law out.  But when I do so, I’m going to be working for your wife.”

Sansa?  Petyr was so focused on his mission that to hear mention of his wife was startling.  Littlefinger turned and walked back down the steps, giving him his full attention, “Excuse me?”

“It’s no offense to you, but I won’t be on retainer for the mob.  I will leave this city in the dead of night if I have to.  I mean it.  I won’t be compromised.”  Petyr could see the slightest tremor in the big man with the baby face as he set his limits.

Petyr was slightly amused to see that Tarly’s integrity was so important to him.  Did he truly not know that Sansa had killed the Hound?  Petyr realized that he actually may not.  He was hired to get her the estate, not off of murder charges.  Perhaps the power of Tarly’s innocent face was not only its chubby-childlike features, but in fact his true naivety.  Petyr asked, “Do you think my wife plays no part in the businesses I run?  You helped her get some of her own and you know they are not _clean_.”

Rather than looking down as Petyr had expected, Tarly met his eye as he explained, “This is not a business matter.  It’s family.  And she was a good client to work for, very kind and fair.”

 _Kind and fair?_ Petyr smirked to himself as he thought about how brutal his beautiful wife truly was, _Trust me, you’d rather work for me._ Returning to business, Littlefinger nodded his head and responded, “I do not want you on retainer, for now.  I do, however, want you to get Brandon Stark out of custody and into my car.  Immediately.”

Petyr turned back and jogged up the steps listening for Tarly behind him.  Tarly’s steps were heavier but present, nonetheless.  Once they got to the door, Tarly stopped him, “Best I go in alone.  People would notice you in there.”

Littlefinger scowled at him, “Yes and they’ve already noticed me parked out front too.”   Petyr had already made up his mind; he was going in, if for no other reason than to assess Stannis.  The man would be appropriately distraught, but not a blubbering mess.  Petyr was sure of it.  After all, the man was willing to double cross his brother, and he was too proper for public emotional displays.  Petyr knew he could pretend to be compassionate for Stannis, however fake it was, while also using him to discover how Bran came to be arrested.

Tarly sighed in resignation and proceeded through the door.  Petyr was satisfied to see him concede and stood in the entrance, as if waiting for Tarly as he spoke over the counter.  Tarly was telling the staff that he was Bran’s lawyer and had been requested to come in as Petyr slipped by and went on a hunt for Stannis.  He hadn’t gotten far into the station before he ran into Melisandre, Stannis’ lead detective.

Littlefinger offered a wry smile when he saw her; she was not Stannis but she would do.  The man told her everything, though Petyr supposed that was typical in men who worked with their mistresses.  In his experience, guys who ate where they shat were all stupid, desperate, fools.  Melisandre was smarter than Stannis and though she had her own faults, it would be easier to talk to her without all the emotion of a dead relative boiling under the surface.

Spotting him instantly, she waved for him to follow her.  Petyr quickened his step, weaving around the chaotic bustle of the station.  They had pulled off the biggest bust in years, and little did they know, it was Littlefinger that had handed it to them.  Officers were smiling and cheering at the TV coverage of them confiscating guns and arresting guilty parties.

As Petyr followed her into an office, he caught a glimpse of Renly’s car from a helicopter camera and a profile picture of him to the side.  He paused to read the scrolling caption below: _Renly Tyrell--Police Commissioner Baratheon’s brother shot dead by unknown gunman during illegal weapons seizure._

“This way, Baelish.”  Melisandre directed him inside the office and shut the blinds on the door behind them.

Petyr looked her over, unsure if he would encounter any emotional response from her.  Stannis would be grieving, it made sense that his woman would be upset.  Being a professional, however, Melisandre would have more tact than to be reactive.  She may also be less attached to Stannis than he was to her, and simply not care about his brother’s death.  Littlefinger didn’t trust many, but this detective was one he handled with even greater caution.

She spoke first, “He’s dealing with his brother’s remains.”

Littlefinger nodded his acknowledgement, not needing to guess who she was referring to.  Stannis was the only thing they had in common, and the word _remains_ only confirmed that it was him.  She offered a wry smile, “When everything is handled, you can expect that he will be searching for who did this.”

Petyr offered a sympathetic wrinkle of his brow as he met her eye, “I sincerely hope he finds whoever’s responsible.”

The red-head with the false smile eyed him, “So do I.”  She then opened a desk drawer and pulled out a manilla envelope, “I assume you’re here for this?”

Petyr looked down at the envelope, not knowing what was inside, “Thank you.”

He barely heard her comment, “You picked a crazy time to pick it up,” as he took it from her grasp and slowly pulled the contents out.  Inside were phone records and pictures of Margaery and Olenna Tyrell.  The pictures were taken everywhere, the nursing home the spa, out shopping, even fashion week.   _Stannis has built up quite the collection,_ Petyr thought to himself.  He sifted through the papers for the phone records and scanned them quickly in front of Melisandre.  He was looking for an answer.  The phone number that Shae had found, Petyr had put Stannis on it.  This may be the findings; where did that phone number lead?  There was a sticky note pressed to the second page, next to the number circled in red.  The note read, _Not public info, need FBI to track._

Littlefinger picked his head up in annoyance and looked back at Melisandre.  She offered a smile, that he was sure satisfied simple men who weren’t looking at her smile to begin with.  She shifted, sensing his change in demeanor, and asked, “Is something not to your liking?”

“You need the FBI to track numbers?”  Petyr did not hesitate to ask.  He knew that Stannis would tell her if he hadn’t already.

She nodded her head and explained, “Whenever a number originates from outside of our district.   _That number_ is overseas.  Not even Stannis himself can reach that far, even as commissioner.”

Petyr sighed in disappointment, for the time being, the mystery would have to remain unsolved.  Olenna was supposed to be blissfully off of her rocker, yet he still suspected her behind this.  When her mind was intact, it was one of the sharpest he’d ever encountered.  He knew that Margaery was not her equal.  To be fair, he did not know Margaery well at all.  There was the night he spent with her at the gala and, since then, he’d only encountered her directly at fashion week.  The woman worked hard to appear as filler, another part of her brother’s entourage.  Littlefinger knew, being related to Olenna, she had to have more going on in her brain than most.  She had indeed proven herself tricky, but that did not mean she was a criminal mastermind.

No.  This smelled of Olenna.  Petyr had long had a distaste in his mouth for the aged Tyrell, and was pleased to hear that her brain had softened.  Littlefinger had only barely seen the start of her decline before Loras and Renly quickly packed her up and shipped her off.  At the time, he couldn’t blame them.  Any sign of weakness in a family, however minimal, would be equivalent to an exposed jugular.  And in truth, he didn’t want to do business with someone who was a couple of cards short of a full deck.  Now staring at the untraceable phone number, Petyr wondered just how many marbles the woman still had.

As he pushed the records back into the envelope, some of the pictures came loose from the stack and slid out.  Petyr caught them before they fell, his eyes landing on a picture of his wife.  He looked affectionately over the waterfall of Sansa’s fiery red locks cascading down her back and followed the strands down to the bottom, _her_ bottom.  He felt the muscles in his arms and legs tense as he noticed an arm resting around her waist.  It was not his arm.  He picked the picture up, eyeing it more closely to find the owner of the offensive arm.  Lancel Lannister.  The arm belonged to Lancel-fucking-Lannister, the man who garnered so much sympathy from Sansa in the past.

Petyr felt his face heat and his palms sweat as he remembered all the times he felt as though Sansa was a little too compassionate for the younger Lannister.  He looked for more pictures and saw Margaery talking with Sansa and Cersei and realized quickly that this photo was taken over two months ago, when Sansa went clothes shopping with Cersei.  She had told him about running into Margaery.  She had not mentioned that Lancel was there as well.  Just like she had not mentioned that Lancel was at the Craig Club for Arya’s twenty-first birthday.  Petyr told himself that this was more than likely benign, his Sansa was just as devoted to him as he was to her.  Doubt clawed at him as he asked himself, _Why didn’t she tell me he was there?_

Melisandre cleared her throat, pulling him out of his thoughts, “If there’s nothing else?”

He realized that Melisandre had not once brought up the subject of Bran, something she was sure to do if she had known about his arrest.  This was under her radar.  Petyr thought it best to excuse himself, the fewer people that were aware of Bran’s arrest, the better.  He took a controlled breath, schooling his face as he answered, “No.  Please extend my gratitude to Stannis.”

Littlefinger turned abruptly and left the private office.  He walked past all the officers, still hooting and hollering over the news coverage of a job well done.  He barely heard an officer to his right say, “Fuck the FBI!”  Another man laughed, “We handle our shit in-house!”  Petyr dipped his head down as he passed by one cop who said, “This is _our_ city!”  Petyr had just crossed the threshold into the lobby when he heard the receptionist grin into the phone as she said, “This is going to be a mob-free city!”

 _That’s what you think,_ Littlefinger smirked.  This bust was planned, well measured and offered up.  This was not a testament to the proficiency of this city’s civil servants.  Petyr knew what would need to be done now: a show of force, from all the families.  The city would need to be reminded who ran it.

Littlefinger was only happy to oblige, knowing Sansa would stand steadfast by his side as he unleashed the crime wave necessary to emphasize the strength of the Baelish name.  As for the Tyrells, perhaps Loras would be too distraught to act, truly the weak link in the organization.  Petyr had no doubts about the Lannisters.  Jaime and Cersei would rise to the occasion, indiscriminately robbing and killing their way back into everyone’s nightmares.

Littlefinger knew the real competition would always be the Lannisters, which was why he kept them close under the pretense of friendship.  It was a guise made more masterful with Sansa’s help, forming an indescribable bond with Cersei.  He hoped that the day the long con with the Lannisters was over, the effects on his wife would be minimal.  Perhaps having their daughter to raise would comfort her, should she need it.

Tarly had gone back to the cells and it was anyone’s guess how long the man would be.  Petyr knew he didn’t need to be seen in the police station any longer than necessary and headed for his car.  He had originally gone in with a sense of urgency, needing to free Bran and make Stannis answer for the audacity shown in arresting Bran in the first place.  Once the got there though, he changed priorities.  Stannis was injured and his right hand _woman_ appeared to have no knowledge of Bran.  And to add to the mess of it all, Littlefinger was given photographic proof that his queen had let another man hold her.

Giving himself a mental shake, Petyr told himself that the touch was chaste.  Sansa belonged to him.  He was stupid for getting riled over a picture of the lesser Lannister touching his wife.  He reminded himself that he was there for Bran.  He would bring Bran back to Sansa, and once everything had calmed down, he would learn more about this picture and her feelings towards Lancel.

Petyr was about to get out of the car, wrought with impatience, when he saw Tarly walking quite swiftly for a man of his size.  He held a guilty expression on his face as he approached the car.  Bran was just behind him, looking over his shoulder with a shit-eating grin on his face.  Petyr pushed the unlock button on his doors as they approached the car.  Bran was the first to open his door and plop down, Tarly hesitating for a moment as he offered an inconspicuous look around him before he got in.  Petyr offered no pause before he shifted gears and took off.

Relieved to have Bran back, Petyr glanced up at him in the rearview mirror, almost to check to see if he was truly there.  The boy was grinning as he said, “That was fuckin’ legendary.  Tarly, you’re savage.”

 _Savage?_  Petyr wondered about Bran’s description of Baby-Face-Tarly.  Clearly the kid had never watched Barbrey work.  Tarly was grinning from ear to ear as he laughed back jovially to Bran, “Me?  What about you?  How did you think of sign language?”

Petyr’s eyebrows raised.  He and Sansa had been teaching Bran some ASL now that he was in recovery and more interested in patching up his relationship with Jon.  Tarly noticed Petyr’s interested expression and laughed, “This guy right here, writes down on a piece of paper: _I can’t speak, and even if I could, I’d only talk to my lawyer._  And then he started doing sign language.”

Bran smiled back at Tarly, “I just knew not to say a fucking thing, no matter what.  And thought it would easier if I just couldn’t.  Lucky for me, most of the interpreters they had on spoke spanish and shit, not sign language.  They were calling everywhere trying to find one this time of night.  I was praying like hell you’d get to me before they found one.”  

The extent of Bran’s sign language was profanity and requests for various food items for when they all ate together.  Bran was not exactly a quick study and it was lucky that they didn’t have an interpreter available to sniff out his lie.  Petyr kept a steady pace back towards the auction, not responding, feeling the mask of Littlefinger taking hold of him again.

The air in the car was heavy and Bran attempted to reach him through the smog of anxious energy, “Hey, Petyr, man--I’m really sorry.”

Petyr would not meet his eyes in the mirror as he asked, “If you were deaf, who was your one phone call?”

“Varys.”  Bran’s answer was so immediate that Littlefinger didn’t doubt its honesty.

It was Tarly that asked, “How could you call someone if you were pretending to be deaf?”

Bran started chuckling, “I tapped the phone with my first two fingers each time someone was around me so it looked like i was doing morse code.”

Petyr wanted to laugh, but would not allow himself to.  Bran put them through hell this night, Sansa was still at home worrying about him.  Arya would still be there too, no doubt a ball of nerves and profanity.  Directing his attention to Tarly, Littlefinger asked, “Any idea how he was picked up?”  He then reached for his phone and sent Sansa a quick text letting her know that Bran was back and they were coming home.

Tarly’s expression turned serious as he sighed, “It was a uniform cop.  Someone who just arrested anyone coming out of the cars.  He didn’t know who he was cuffing.”

 _Well, that just confirms why Melisandre never said anything,_ Petyr thought to himself.  She really didn’t know.  Bran spoke up, “But Petyr, it’s cool, cause this dude right here got me out before anything fucked up happened.  We’re in the clear.”

Petyr felt his nostrils flare as he thought, _Oh to be that naive._ He addressed Bran, “Did they get your fingerprints?”

There was a long pause, a silence that pressurized the car.  Only the sound of Petyr's phone buzzing Sansa's response filled it.  He looked down to read, _You make everything better_ _._ Petyr closed his eyes for a touch longer than was safe as he drove, and slowly inhaled, filling his chest in excitement over making his wife proud of him.  Interrupting the warmth of Sansa's message, Bran finally answered, in a defeated voice, “Yes.”

Petyr appreciated that he didn’t try to bullshit him, and that once Bran thought about it, he realized the severity of the situation.  Tarly smiled uncomfortably, “You are definitely not in the clear then.”

Petyr pulled up to the auction, now much less crowded with most of the attendees having left for the evening.  He offered Tarly a sidelong glance, silently chastising him for his contribution.  Littlefinger knew how severe having a record could be, Tarly’s commentary was not helping.  Changing the subject, he asked the lawyer, “How did you get him out anyway?  What did you say?”

The big man’s hand was already on the handle to leave when he paused, “You can’t read Miranda Rights to a deaf person.  You can’t hold someone that hasn’t been read their rights.”

Tarly hoisted himself out of the car, and held the door open, looking back at Bran as he said, “Stay clean, kid.”

Petyr found himself genuinely grinning at Tarly, and he found himself complimenting him, “Very smart.”

Tarly chuckled unexpectedly and leaned in further, “It was smart of Bran to play deaf.”

Before Tarly could close the door, Littlefinger raised his hand and pointed at him, “I like you, Tarly.”

The big man grimaced a smile and responded, “Thank you.”  Mustering courage, he added, “I hope what we talked about before still stands?  I’m not on retainer.”

Petyr closed his eyes for a second, inhaling as he did before he agreed, “You are not my first call.”  Littlefinger’s eyelids opened and his pupils stared the man down, “However, when I do call, _you come_.”

Tarly nodded his head once and then backed away, closing the passenger door behind him.  Finally alone in the car with his brother-in-law, Petyr didn’t want to hear him speak.  He had put Sansa and Arya through unnecessary concern, and gave Petyr a much more eventful night than he had anticipated, breaking the trust he was so slowly rebuilding.  Petyr was already back on the road when Bran cleared his throat and started to apologize again.

Littlefinger cut him off, “Don’t bother with an apology.  Start with an explanation.”

Petyr could almost feel Bran’s sigh from the backseat, “I know that it was wrong.  But I figured because it was guns it would be safe.  Temptation-free.  It’s not like I was transporting crates filled with meth.  I didn’t relapse, promise.”

“If you knew it was wrong, what motivated you do it?”  Petyr maintained a placid exterior.

Bran spoke down into his hands, “Why did you help Sansa get our parent’s stuff back?”

Littlefinger looked up in the mirror, not answering.  He would not help Bran bring Sansa into this.  Bran’s eyes met his as he answered his rhetorical question, “To impress a girl.”

“And the WRX I gave you?”  Petyr asked, not allowing himself to be phased.

Bran smiled, “Is fucking sweet.  And she likes it.  But she’s into a man that’s _connected_.  You know?  She wants a man that works--like how you do.  The business.”

Petyr had known that Bran was trying to impress some girl for a couple of weeks now, but didn’t think much about it.  When he was younger he concerned himself with impressing women too.  It wasn’t long before he realized how silly of a pursuit it was.  He learned to focus himself entirely on his work, playing and scheming his way up the ladder to his own success.  The women followed, falling at his feet with each rung passed.  Bran was still young and hadn’t made a name for himself, of course he was trying like hell to get some action.

He had come to Petyr privately, just guys talking.  Petyr had never had any siblings, that he knew of anyway, and was touched that Bran came to him for brotherly advice on women.  Petyr suggested the car; in his experience women loved expensive cars.  Even Sansa got wet for a fast ride in some of his more sportier cars.  For the briefest of seconds, Petyr let his mind drift back to the time he took her on the hood of his Aston Martin.  He had sympathized with the young Stark, and gifted him the car, convincing his overly protective wife to allow it.  She didn’t need to know the reason behind it was to help Bran get some girl to spread her legs.

Littlefinger refocused his thoughts and restated the offenses as he sped the car along, “Varys put you on a different job, and you snuck over to this one.  And got arrested.”

Bran hung his head and spoke into his hands, “I know, man.  I’m such a shit.”

“And your fingerprints are in the database.”  Petyr said it more to himself than to Bran.  Stannis and Melisandre were who he would ask to fix this issue.  In light of recent events, he wanted to keep his contact with them limited.  He had an idea for how he could fix this issue, but he was sure Sansa wouldn’t like it.

Petyr sighed in resignation as he stared at the road ahead.  It seemed like no matter what he did, Sansa would be disappointed.  How far he had come from having the evening he thought he would be experiencing.  He remembered the Lamaze instructor talking about ligaments and stretching, as he grew distracted by the smell of Sansa’s hair in his face.  He gripped her hip and massaged it to reassure her and to give himself the intimate contact he craved from her.  He was surrounded by the ugly truths to childbearing and only barely noticed, fully ensconced in the smell of her.  The warmth and feel of her leaned back against him only stirred his desire to possess her.  He had, at the time, resolved to seduce her once they were in bed for the night, wanting her to fall asleep in his arms afterward.    

Sometimes, just touching her in ways that others could not was enough to sate him.  A peck of a kiss on her ear, a guiding hand on the hip, an unimposing chin on the shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her, all helped him control his urge to strip them both naked and hold her in an intimate embrace.  Petyr drew in a long breath, thinking of how the night had turned and realized that any idea he may have had of sex or anything close to it was out the window.  He scowled, _Fucking Bran._

His thoughts turned back to Sansa’s soft skin, vibrant hair, and captivating eyes and considered what he would do to be with her if he didn’t already have her.  Buy a car?  Totally.  Sneak onto a job that he wasn’t assigned?  Definitely.  Get arrested?  If that’s what it took.  Petyr sighed, allowing his harder Littlefinger exterior fade away, knowing that this situation could not be handled by him alone.  This was something for both him and Sansa together.

Petyr looked back in the mirror and said, “Who is this woman anyway?  Have I seen her before?”

Bran winced as he answered, “You know her.”

Petyr pursed his lips, annoyance tightening his face.  Judging by the way Bran reacted, he knew it was someone that Petyr and Sansa wouldn’t approve of.  “I told you Bran, no fucking the staff.”

Bran shook his head feverishly, “No!  No, seriously!  No.  They are cute and everything, but no.  I get to not even mess around with them.  I know you don’t shit where you work.”

If not one of the strippers, then who could Bran be trying to hook up with that he knew they wouldn’t approve of?  Petyr eyed him, “Are you going to make me ask you again?”

Bran cleared his throat and looked everywhere but back in the mirror as he said, “ _Margaery Tyrell._ ”

“Fuck!”  Petyr’s response was unrestrained.  Sansa would come unglued if she knew this, and if he was being honest, he could understand why.  It was a stupid infatuation with Margaery that got Bran arrested.

Bran looked up, speaking fast, “I get that I’m an asshole for wanting Joff’s girl, but he doesn’t treat her right.”

Petyr fought to keep from rolling his eyes as he stared at the road ahead.  Bran spoke fast, “I get it.  He’s high a lot.  I was shitty to girls too back when I was getting high.  It’s not all his fault, but that doesn’t mean she should have to put up with it either.”

“And she doesn’t do drugs?”  Petyr asked through clenched teeth, still reeling from Bran’s confession.

Bran shook his head, “Not around me, she respects my recovery.  She said she wants to stop too, but Joffrey likes it when they get high together.”

Petyr scoffed, thinking of the handful of times he’d seen her out socially, “Oh she wants to stop, does she?”

“Yes, and I can help her.  I just needed to get her to see that she doesn’t have to stay with someone like Joffery just because his parents make him help out with the business.  I can help too.”  Bran shrugged his shoulders and held his palms out, as if explaining something everyone should pick up on.  It was only obvious to him, however.

“From what I know of Margaery Tyrell, she wouldn’t allow herself to be abused by anyone.  If she wants to leave Joffrey, she will.”  Petyr didn’t know why he bothered to explain this, but did all the same.

Bran offered an empty smile and answered, “I know.  That’s why I was trying to get her to see me.  Maybe she’d want someone else... _me_.”

Petyr realized that this extended well past just trying to get a little ass, and had gone into full-blown infatuation.  He decided to use another tactic: go for Joffrey.  Petyr offered a judgemental cringe as he said, “You’re a great friend to Joffrey…”

Bran was quick to respond, “We chill.  We’re not friends.  Friends don’t do lines of coke in front of you when you’re in recovery.  I only hung out with him because we liked some of the same shit, and then he introduced me to his girl.”

Petyr considered Bran’s interest in Margaery and felt in his bones that this woman was not an innocent bystander, an unsuspecting object of obsession.  She had to have fostered this in Bran.  Why?  Was it related to the shipments and the untraceable phone number?  Or was it completely unrelated and just for shits and giggles?  Margaery had proven herself to be a trickster before, was this no different?

Petyr took a deep breath as he realized how severely this would set Sansa off.  For the briefest of moments, he didn’t want to tell her, keep this just between him and Bran.  But he knew that it would be much worse later if he did.  Sansa was always more lenient if there was honesty.  Any sort of subterfuge just added to her wrath.  No, he would have to tell Sansa that the object of Bran’s attention was Margaery.  He wouldn’t, however, have to tell her about his own internal suspicions.  Sansa was always exceedingly smart, but this was something he hoped she would not figure out.

There was no need to get her worked up thinking that the issue was something larger than it may be.  Sansa would want to act, exact some sort of retribution instantly.  She loved her family so fiercely, that she wouldn’t sit idly by while he calculated a way to strike, unscathed.

Now was the worst time to act.  Renly was dead and the city would be responding.  They needed to stay back and keep their hands clean while things played out.  He knew that Sansa had no problem rolling up her sleeves and getting dirty, but Petyr did.  She was twenty-five weeks pregnant, her body so vulnerable, nurturing and protecting his young daughter.

He thought of how reckless it was for her to cut Bessa up in the bathroom that night and decided it best to minimize Bran’s crush over Margaery; help take away her desire to act so quickly.  Sansa had proven herself time and time again to be every bit Petyr’s equal, and deserving of everything he had, including information.  He loathed to hold his thoughts back from her, but he felt like it would be safer for her and the baby.  He grimaced as he imagined Bessa fighting back, attacking Sansa, harming the child she carried.

He was so lost in the dreadful thought that he barely noticed himself pulling into his garage.  Bran looked around,  asking nervously, “We could just keep driving around until she falls asleep.”

Petyr pulled the key from the ignition, as he eyed the door into the house, “No, Bran.  You have to face her.  She’s been worried for hours now.”

Bran observed, “You look more nervous than I do.”

 _That’s because Sansa hates Margaery already,_ Petyr thought to himself.  He then opened his door, feeling truly exhausted from the night, and knowing it was far from over.  He didn’t look back at Bran as he ordered, “Get out of the car.”  

  



	27. The Adventures of Elenei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does Sansa look like she’s going to punch a puppy?

Sansa held her phone up to show Varys the strange number that kept calling her, “Do you recognize this number?”  

“No.  But, it starts in six-six-eight.  It’s a throw-away phone.  Someone’s calling you that shouldn’t be.”  Varys spoke matter-of-factly as he poured himself a drink from behind the bar in the Baelishes’ living room.  

Arya waved her hand at him, “Me too.  Whiskey.”  When he nodded his head at her, she added, “Why shouldn’t someone be calling her?  And just so you know, lots of people have prepaid phones.”  

Varys pulled another bottle out and started pouring as he answered, “Big things have happened in our city, and I think you know that your sister is no little person.”  

Sansa scowled at him to shut up; Arya didn’t know about the hit.  There was no way she could know that Bronn’s job was contracted by them.  She wasn’t privy to that information.  Varys gave Sansa a look of mock innocence and slid the drink over to Arya.  Sansa was about to offer some veiled explanation meant to abate any curiosity or concern that Arya might have, before the younger Stark downed her drink and held up her hand, “I don’t want to know.  It’s probably better I don’t.”   

Relieved at not having to talk, Sansa was free to focus on her phone, still ringing from the same “throw away” number.  She considered Varys’ words about it being someone that wasn’t supposed to call her.  Whoever it was, they were persistent.  Four back to back calls, no voicemail message left.  Petyr had used his own phone to tell her that they were on their way back.  Bran would use his phone too if he were going to call her.  With great hesitation, she accepted the call.  

The speaker sounded in her ear, “Being your friend is work.  Answer your phone when it rings.”

“Cersei?”  Sansa asked even though she recognized the voice.  Then added, “I didn’t know the number.”  

In the background, Sansa could hear ice clinking as Cersei responded, “It’s a burner phone.  Jaime took mine.  Fucking Tyrion and his protocols.”

“Protocols?”  Sansa found herself smiling in curiosity.  She had been so worried about Bran that listening to Cersei’s family drama was a welcomed distraction.  

Cersei crunched some ice in her teeth, “We all go radio silent until there’s a face to face.  It’s usually at the funeral.  It was the same with Clegane, you just probably didn’t notice because you and Baelish weren’t official yet.”  

Sansa had actually known about this; Petyr had prepared her.  He warned her that when a boss was executed everyone went silent.  It didn’t matter if the person responsible was identified or not, silence followed.  It was a period of time for retaliation, either from the injured family or the other families if they decided they didn’t approve of the hit.

In the case of Clegane, everyone thought at first that it was Petyr that had killed him.  The Tyrells had expressed no inclination in eliminating Clegane and thanks to Petyr and Tyrion and the Lannisters always made too much money off of the Hound’s stupidity to encourage his death.  

In their minds, there was no question as to who may have ended Sandor.  Still, the customary down time was offered and respected.  It was a ripe time for anyone opposing Petyr’s grab for power to make a move against him.  At the time, Sansa was too focused on their budding relationship to understand what he was battling in their crime underworld.  Families could fight families at any time, but the days following an assassination were always the most likely time to strike.  People could get charged up on emotion and rally their forces quicker and easier.  The moments of greatest momentum would always be following the fall of someone important.  

Later, when it was revealed that Sansa was responsible for the Hound and that the North and East were linked by mere marriage, there was a period of time when Petyr had advised Sansa to lay low as well.  This ensured a lack of retaliation over her being introduced to the fold, to offer an opportunity for all the players to adjust, and to make room at the table.  Petyr had always made sure to educate her on the politics involved.  

Petyr wasn’t as dramatic as Jaime though, taking away her phone.  He had just told her not to make or accept calls from the other families.  She winced, realizing that she had done just that.  Damn throw away phones.  In his explanation, Petyr reasoned that it would look more suspicious if they suddenly had zero calls on their phone records for a week or two.  

Cersei’s voice interrupted her thoughts, “By the way, Jaime loves who’s ever responsible for doing this.  He likened it to expecting to get an autographed copy of your favorite book, only to discover that it’s a first edition too!”  

“I thought Jaime didn’t read?”  Sansa asked, remembering specifically that Cersei said the only book he ever read was, _What to Expect While You’re Expecting._  

“Oh, he doesn’t.  Well, I guess now he does, kind of, thanks to audiobooks.  He listens to them all the time, and it’s all boring fantasy shit.  Knights and dragons, ick.”  Cersei complained before she explained further, “As to actual books, he just likes to collect things so that no one else can have them.  He, surprisingly, knows a lot about books.”

Trying to pull some purpose out of this insight into Jaime Lannister's hobbies, Sansa asked, “So, you’re both enjoying the outcome of things?”  

“Of course!”  Cersei grinned over the phone, “Jaime’s always been clear in his feelings regarding that family, and you know I love surprises!”  

Sansa sighed, though wouldn’t allow herself to completely relax that easily.  It would be stupid of her to believe that Cersei was being one hundred percent honest with her.  Whether they liked and agreed with Renly’s assassination, they must have hated the secret way it was carried out.  By not including them in this, Petyr had reminded them how sneaky he could be, how easily he could remove someone.  They would be on the defensive now, whether they knew for sure that it was him that had done it or not.  Sansa knew the best defense was to act as if things were business as usual.  Cersei using a burner phone to call her “friend” would be just that.  The Lannisters would need time to calm down too, they were just better at hiding it.  Cersei’s voice chimed in, “So, what are you going to wear?”  

“To what?”  Sansa couldn’t fathom why Cersei would be talking about fashion at a time like this.  Bran had been arrested, everyone was in lock-down _protocols_ and Cersei was concerned with her clothing.  

“For surveillance.”  Cersei sounded as though she was stating the obvious.  If Sansa had thought about anything other than Bran and Petyr, it may have actually been obvious to her too.  Cersei continued, “The Tyrells will be keeping an eye on us.  Lots of under cover photos and wiretaps.”

Sansa had not considered the photos, though she figured that would make sense with them trying to figure out who was responsible for Renly.  The Lannisters could try to give them up if they wanted, but even the Tyrell’s wouldn’t be dumb enough to blindly accept their word.  Cersei sounded tired as she added, “At least that’s what Olenna would be doing.  I keep forgetting that Loras is so disappointingly weak, and Margaery is probably swallowing too much cock to think of anything outside of how many calories are in cum.”   

Sansa almost laughed, but the mood was too heavy to allow it.  Petyr had told her of Olenna’s beautiful mind, but Sansa had never seen it in action.  By the time Sansa had taken her place by Petyr’s side, Olenna had been rendered useless and decommissioned.  Cersei was probably right about Loras, he would be too grief stricken to act.  Sansa wasn’t sure about Cersei’s assessment of Margaery, however.   

“Four hundred, by the way.”  Cersei dropped in.  

“Four hundred what?”  Sansa asked, pulled away yet again from her more deeper thoughts.

Cersei sighed, “There are about four hundred calories in a shot of cum.  It’s very protein rich.”  

“I didn’t want to know that.”  Sansa hid her smile as she chided the older woman.  

Cersei laughed, “And now you do anyway.”

In disbelief, Sansa repeated, “ _Four hundred?”_

“Depending on the size of the load!”  Cersei cackled through the phone and then asked, “Thinking of becoming a spitter now?”

“You’re such a bitch.”  Sansa laughed, forgetting about the people around her.  Varys cocked an eyebrow at her as he poured Arya another drink.  Arya stared back at her in surprise.  Sansa reminded herself that Arya didn’t have the luxury of a crazy friend who could distract her, at least not that Sansa knew of.    

Cersei smiled through the phone, “A beautiful one.  And I don’t associate with anyone uglier than me either, so stay on your game.  Don’t let the Tyrells see you any less.”  

“Never.”  Sansa agreed, and then she offered, “Don’t go stir crazy at home.”

Cersei laughed, “I’ll be fine.  I like my home; I designed it.  It’s the kids that are the problem.  They’re going to be such shits about it.  Joffrey especially.  He even tried to get in on the job tonight after we explicitly told him no.  Luckily Tyrion caught him and Jaime made him come to the game with us.  We’re keeping our babies close--‘all grown up’ or not.”

Sansa thought of Bran.  He was technically all grown up, and yet he was still her responsibility.  Before she could make the connection between responsibility and parenthood, Cersei did for her, “I am sorry about your brother.  I know he’s not your child, but I’m sure your feet have slipped further into Catelyn’s shoes than you would have liked…”  

An icicle stabbed Sansa through her heart at the mention of her mother’s name.  She hadn’t really thought about it, not consciously anyway.  Becoming Bran’s mother-figure, stepping into the role of her mother, it all just happened because it needed to.  There was no discussion, no consideration of whether or not it was appropriate or appreciated.  Not for the first time, Sansa thought about her mother and wondered what the strong lead woman of the Stark Wolf Pack would think of how Sansa was raising her young.  Sansa tried to deflect the seriousness that weighed in her heart and joked, “Just call me Cinderella.”  

As Cersei was able to do, she saw through the facade and spoke what sounded genuine, “Take care of yourself, Little Dove.”  

“You too.”  Sansa hit the end button and stared down at her phone.  For a moment, she pictured her own mother telling her to take care of herself.  More than not, Sansa forgot Cersei’s age, as the woman was often impulsive and young at heart.  Though there were times that the near twenty year age difference showed itself and Sansa had to work to avoid a strong pull to the only mother-figure available to her.  If nothing shared with Cersei Lannister was real, at least there was mutual respect.    

“Cinderella?”  The sound of Arya’s voice broke her out of her contemplation.

Sansa gave a small smile, “Inside joke.”

Changing the subject, Arya sighed, “This whole thing is completely fucked.”  

Sansa nodded her agreement.  It was completely and utterly _fucked._  She glanced over to Varys who looked back at her, determined not to lower his head.  He was staunch in his belief that he had done nothing wrong in leaving his post to meet with his informant and Sansa wasn’t entirely convinced of otherwise, either.  She knew Petyr would be unimpressed at his absence, if for no other reason than that Varys had been keeping something from him.  

She knew that it would only be a matter of time before Petyr and Bran walked through the door and whatever Petyr thought of Varys would be made apparent.  Sansa tucked her phone in her pocket and continued where she left off, pacing prior to Cersei’s insistent calls.  Through her own nervous pacing, she noticed Arya’s fidgeting and knew that the lack of action was eating at her.  Arya often times spoke with her fists and it was not in her nature to sit and wait for someone else to fix things.  

In truth, Sansa had pictured Bran getting arrested a thousands times when he was cracked out of his head.  But never now, not since he returned to the fold, eager to become _Uncle Bran-Flakes_.  Something didn’t smell right.  Varys told her he was picked up with the rest of the workers.  Not high, as far as she could tell.  So then, what the hell happened?

Sansa felt every bit the mother she was becoming and Cersei had pointed out.  Playing with the little locket on her bracelet, Sansa asked herself, _What would Catelyn Stark do?_  Sansa had pulled so much strength from her mother over the years that her death did not diminish her influence.  Would Catelyn march down there, putting a bullet in the head of every uniform she passed by on her way to the cells?  No.  Never.  That wasn’t her way.  Sansa remembered how perfectly in tune she was with her husband, fighting through her own feelings of anger and indignation at times, to work with him.  

Her father now appeared in her thoughts.   _What would Ned Stark be doing right now?_  He would be gathering his men.  He would pick the ones that fit the situation the most.  And then he would march down there and get Bran back.  Would he kill those who got in the way?  That was something she had to think about.  Her father had always respected life so much, using death as a last resort, even for his enemies.  It would not be in her father to just mindlessly kill anyone who stood in the way.  He would talk, or use his men to talk.  And if that didn’t work, then he would roll up his sleeves, and do what he needed to.  Sansa knew this to be true, to her core.  

She reminded herself that Petyr was not like her father, or her mother.  He had his own style, his own way of achieving his goals.  He was versatile, able to both negotiate and take by force.  As much as she loathed to be on the sidelines, she believed in her husband, and had faith that he would pick the most effective means.

She gave her very active baby a small rub as she thought to herself and the child within that Petyr had been living this life a lot longer than her.  He had connections, people to call to get things done.  As she closed her eyes she pictured him painting the police station in bullets and had to shake the thought from her head.  Sansa took a deep breath and then acknowledged, If it comes to that—he won’t disappoint.

She saw something out of the corner of her eye, and looked up to see Bran standing in the doorway.  Arya dropped her drink on the counter and flew across the room, wrapping her arms around him.  Sansa’s movement towards him was much slower, though she couldn’t deny she had the same urge as her sister.  “You fucker,” Arya spoke into his neck.  

“I know.  I’m sorry.”  Bran let Arya go when she released him and turned to Sansa.  His eyes repeated his words to Sansa.  

Petyr stood silently beside him, watching for her reaction.  Sansa firmly placed a hand on Bran’s chest as she said, “I’m glad you’re home.”  

Bran’s eyes widened.  Perhaps he was anticipating that she would be more dramatic about what had happened.  And perhaps at any other time, she may have been.  But sheer exhaustion and a need to simply understand wouldn’t allow her to react to the same degree.  She had spent the night counting the minutes down until someone she had grown to care for was assassinated.  She shared a touching family moment with her sister, her eternal maid of honor, and her husband, the man responsible for the murder she anxiously anticipated.  This was only to lose her brother to the law while she waited for him to be returned to her.  All of which was happening during a night gone cloudy with chaos as their world of organized crime shook.

Sansa did not want to yell or fight with Bran, choosing to restrain herself.  Bran brought his hand up and squeezed hers, holding it to his chest.  “Me too, Sis.”

She nodded her head and let him go, now looking to her husband, who was waiting patiently for her to acknowledge him.  She reached forward and cupped his cheek, rubbing her thumb against his skin as she spoke, “You never fail to provide.”

Petyr’s grey-green eyes heated at her words and his mouth pulled into a smile as he turned just enough to kiss her palm.  His hand came around hers, giving it a squeeze of appreciation before he pulled it away and used his grip on her to tug her closer to him.  He breathed into her ear, “I want to hold you.”  

She leaned forward into his embrace, her belly pushed between them and kicked at his.  He smiled into the side of her face, “And the baby.”  

Sansa bit her bottom lip to control her grin as she nodded against him.  Petyr gently nudged her so that she turned around and he could wrap his arms around her and place his hands on her belly, offering their child his affection as well.  She leaned back into him, feeling truly comforted by his presence.  He whispered into her ear, “Where’s Jon?  Does he know anything?”  

Sansa tilted her head, resting it against his, “I warned him about what had happened but allowed him to stay with Ygritte tonight.  He has a solid week, at least, coming up of being away from her.  Let him finish out the night with her.”  

“That’s generous of you.  Especially now.”  Petyr responded.  Sansa knew he was less than enthused over the fact that she did not call her bodyguard back as he had instructed.  It was a time for safety, not frivolity.  Petyr wouldn’t care about Jon’s relationship or be thoughtful of his time.  Right now, Petyr would only care about keeping her safe, and using her bodyguard to do so.  The part of her that was Jon’s cousin did not appreciate Petyr’s attitude.  However, the part of her that was his boss could understand her husband’s desire to utilize the services that they were paying him for.    

It was Bran who spoke first, interrupting the Baelishes’ private back and forth, his voice determined, “I didn’t use.”  

Sansa had figured as much, after Varys told her he was arrested in the bust instead of in a crack-den.  Arya, on the other hand, was not convinced, “Then what the hell happened?”  

Bran crossed his arms over his chest, “I was working.  Loading the crates.  We got busted, I don’t know how.  But that happens, though.  Right, Petyr?”  

Sansa felt Petyr fume by her ear and she felt herself heat as she heard him answer, “The question was not whether or not shipments get busted.  It was how you, in particular, got arrested.”  

Bran started to answer, “I was working and--”

It was Varys this time that interjected, “Not anywhere I put you.”  

Bran shrugged his shoulders, his eyebrows furrowing more defensively, “No.  I’m sorry about that.  But I was working, regardless.”  

“He doesn’t belong in this life.  He got busted.”  Arya pointed at Bran accusatorily as she spoke to Sansa and Petyr.  

“He wouldn’t have.”  Petyr asserted over Sansa’s shoulder.  

Varys poured a drink and started to walk out from behind the bar, “If he had stayed where _I_ put him.”  

Sansa found her voice, addressing her brother, “Why didn’t you stay where Varys put you?”

As Bran opened his mouth, Petyr spoke over her shoulder to Varys, “Where were you?”  

Varys handed Petyr a drink and visibly braced himself to share the truth, “I was following up on a lead I had concerning some speedy deliveries.”  Though Varys speech was guarded in front of the Starks, Sansa knew Petyr would understand that Varys was referring to the Tyrell’s shipments.

“You’ve been looking into them?  And you had to do that _right then_?” Petyr asked.  Sansa stared at Bran, noting how he had not yet answered her question.  All eyes were between Varys and Petyr.  It was not like Petyr to change the direction of a conversation accidentally.  

Varys swallowed his drink, “Yes, I have been.  You’ve always appreciated my thoroughness.  And I met ‘right then’ because it was the only time the source was available.  Loras and Margaery were occupied, as was Renly.”  

“Who is it?  Why couldn’t you call or text?  Why meet in person?”  Petyr asked the questions rapid fire, and Sansa found herself getting increasingly annoyed at the distraction.  

Varys chose his words carefully, “This is the sort of informant that requires meeting in person.”  

Sansa asked Bran again, “Why didn’t you stay where Varys put you?”  

Arya’s head bobbed back and forth and Sansa knew she was having difficulty keeping up with the energy of the room.  Petyr spoke to Varys again, not letting Bran answer, “Why?”  

Sansa huffed and started to pull away from Petyr as she blurted out, “Because he was fucking him, Petyr!”  She was surprised to see a somewhat pained expression flash across Petyr’s face.  Was he hurt that Varys was fucking someone else?  Sansa shook her head at her husband’s vanity, unwilling to get off subject as she turned back to Bran, “Now, you answer my goddamned question, Bran.”  

Arya approached from the side, gripping Bran’s shoulder, “Out with it.  Whatever it is.”  

“I fell for this chick.  And I wanted to show her that I can handle my shit, ya know?  So I snuck on the job.”  Bran looked up from under his eyebrows.  

“That’s fucked.”  Arya scoffed.  “Doesn’t even make any sense.  How would this chick even know what you did?  Isn’t all this shit top-secret?”

“Yes,” Sansa raised a suspicious eyebrow at her brother, “How would this woman know?”  

“Because she told me about it.”  Bran shrugged.  

Sansa’s eyes widened in alarm as she looked between Varys and Petyr.  Varys was always subtle in his expressions, though even his face held traces of surprise.  Petyr’s on the other hand, was unmoved.  He knew something.  His placid expression told her he had no surprise to show, and was working to hide what his true reaction was.  Sansa turned to fully face her husband as she tossed her question back over her shoulder to Bran, “Who is this woman?”  

She wanted to look at him, see what Petyr’s face would show when Bran told her whatever was being kept from her.  She knew she was right to watch him when he offered the slightest wince as they heard Bran answer with an air of pride, “Margaery Tyrell.”  

The room became swelteringly hot and Sansa felt her palms sweat as she raged inside of herself, _Margaery-goddamned-cock-sucking-Tyrell!!!_  Her body was rigid and she could not turn to face Bran as she stared ahead at her husband, frozen in her hatred for a woman that knew Petyr intimately.  She could now add targeting Sansa’s brother to her list of offenses.  

Arya broke the silence, “Why does Sansa look like she’s going to punch a puppy?”

Petyr remained silent, not offering an answer.  Varys was about to respond when Sansa found words, “Because Margaery is filthy whore.”  

“Hey, don’t say that!  You don’t know her!”  Bran exclaimed, a touch of anger giving him bravery.  

Sansa spun around, her hands in tight fists at her sides as she hissed, _“Don’t I?!”_  

Bran looked back at her confused, and she could tell he was going to ask what she meant, but Sansa cut him off.  She knew she couldn’t explain the real reason for her hatred for the woman; it was irrational.  People fucked other people before they found the one they loved.  It was a fact of life.  There was no betrayal in having a sexual history.  It was _history_.  She could not admit to Petyr that she wanted more than anything to risk taking out another major head simply because she was jealous that he wasn’t a virgin when they got together.  If she was not so drunk on her emotions she would even feel a twinge hypocritical in her jealousy as she was not exactly a virgin when they met either.  

She knew that she was being ludacris, yet her feelings remained the same.  He was hers, and hers alone, and Margaery had him.  Had he touched her the same way?  Kissed the same places?  Made the same sounds?  She didn’t know she had been grinding her teeth until she felt a pinching in her cheeks.  When she unclenched her jaw, it hurt to move it and she knew she needed to calm herself.  She could not think about the past; she could not let that be the reason for her anger.  So, she thought of the present: “Bran, she’s using you to get to this family.”  

“What?!  No, she’s not.”  Bran held his hands up and looked at her as if it was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.  

“Yes, she is.  She’s seducing you, getting close to get info on us.  That’s how she works.”  Sansa thought of how Margaery posed as a prostitute to get information on Petyr.  

Bran shook his head and raised his voice, “Is it so fucking hard to believe that she might actually like me?”  

Sansa rubbed her forehead in frustration.  He wasn’t getting it.  She thought of her mother, what would she do?  She offered in a calmer, more level tone, “Bran--”  

He walked towards her, pointing his finger, “No!  This is bullshit.”  Then his voice broke into a mock version of someone else’s, “ _Oh Bran’s such a fuck-up, no one could ever POSSIBLY want him!”_

“That’s enough,” Petyr’s voice sounded over Sansa’s shoulder.  

Bran’s mock voice resonated in her ears and she asked herself, _Does he really think that?_  She felt crippled in that moment, unable to respond.  She didn’t know what to say to him, how to convince him otherwise.  Sansa found herself backing up to bring both Bran and Petyr into her field of view and then she did what was comfortable to her.  She ignored what she couldn’t fix and addressed her husband, “How long have you known about this?  Don’t say you just found out now.  I saw your face.”  

Petyr sighed and said, “I found out in the car and I knew you wouldn’t like it.”  

Sansa pointed at Petyr as she turned to Bran, “Do you hear that?   _He_ knew I wouldn’t like it.  Do you know why?”  

“I don’t give a shit!”  Bran all but hollered.  

Unphased, Sansa continued, “Because he knows, like e _veryone knows,_ that Margaery is a dirty slut who will suck any dick to get what she wants.” Involuntarily her eyes flashed to Petyr, who stared ahead, offering no tell in his poker face.  She continued to address her brother, “And that has nothing to do with you.”  

“You’re a fucking liar, Sansa!”  He started to turn to leave but Arya blocked off the doorway and crossed her arms.  Sansa knew that her sister didn’t know all the details, but she was quick enough to understand and trust Sansa’s words, and acted accordingly.   _That_ was loyalty.  

He yelled at Arya, “ _Move!”_  

“Not a chance in hell,” Arya’s response was automatic.  

Sansa felt her baby push and kick low in her belly and she slid her hand over it, _Calm down, Little One.  It’s going to be okay._  She told herself to calm down too.  Getting riled like that only upset the baby.  She took a deep breath and tried to speak to her brother again, “Bran, I’m telling you, this woman is bad.  Think about it: she’s seeing Joffrey, but it’s you that she told about this job?  It doesn’t add up.”  

Bran huffed, clearly not wanting to admit that she made sense.  “You know what, Sansa?  You’re not the only person who can handle things.  Fuck, I’m more Stark than you now! _I_ know what I’m doing.”

“No.  You don’t.”  Unwilling to let his jab at her strike, Sansa tried to reason with him by taking responsibility, “How could you?  We never told you about her.  We never talked about the other families, the people we can’t trust.”  

Sansa turned to Petyr as she spoke to Bran, “We are as much to blame for this as you are.”  

“Fuck you, Sansa.  You’re so high and mighty!”  Bran took a step forward as if to trample over Arya.  

She chuckled and leaned against the doorframe, “Try it, Bran-Flakes.  Just fucking try it.”  

Sansa could see how he would view her that way and waved Arya off, “Let him go.  He needs to pack his bag.”  

“What the fuck?”  Bran spun around to face her, “You’re kicking me out?!”  

Sansa turned to Varys and said, “Start looking up flights to Sudan.”  She answered Bran’s question before he could ask, “You’re going to stay with Robb.”

When Varys picked Sansa up at Lamaze and explained that Bran had been arrested, Sansa immediately called Robb.  She didn’t know at the time what had happened, but wanted to be prepared, and have options.  She had thought that if Bran had relapsed, perhaps some time in a third world country, away from all the drugs of their world, would help straighten him out again.  It had to be hard to score ecstasy while you were trying to dig for water sources.  Sansa had not planned for Margaery, but the option to send Bran to their brother still applied, regardless.  

“You can’t just send me away because you don’t like my girl.”  Bran spit out through his pursed lips.  

 _My girl,_ Sansa repeated in her head.  What was it with Margaery?  How did she have him so wrapped around her finger?  Joffrey too.  And Petyr, at least once.  She couldn’t help but notice that her husband hadn’t spoken against the slutty Tyrell even once in this conversation.  He knew that Sansa hated her, yet he offered no words of support against her.  Sansa felt her resolve steel as she gritted through her teeth, “Watch me.”  

Bran looked over to Petyr and pointed at Sansa, “Petyr?  Come on, man.  You know she’s being ridiculous.”   

Sansa shot her husband a look to see what his response would be.  He glanced at her quickly and then carefully replied, “A vacation might be nice.”  

Bran threw his arms in the air as he screamed, “I thought things would be different!  I didn’t fucking relapse, like you were all _waiting_ for!  I haven’t done a fucking thing wrong!  I snuck onto one goddamned job, big deal!”  After a long pause, with labored breaths, Bran lowered his voice and spoke with resolve, “You know what?  Good.  This is fucking great.  I don’t want to stay with a bunch of people who pretend to support me and then try to keep me from the only person who ever fucking understood.”

“It’s not like that.”  Sansa started to refute his accusations, but was interrupted when Varys picked his head up, “The first flight he’ll need to take leaves in five hours.  With security and luggage, we should be at the airport within the hour.  Is that too soon?  How rushed is this?”

It was Bran that answered, “It’s perfect.  Book the fucking thing!  The sooner I can leave these assholes behind the better.”  

Sansa shook her head, feeling the sting of his anger, “Bran!”  She didn’t know what she was going to say to him if he had stopped to listen, but she convinced herself that it might have mattered.  She had not been prepared for this, for his feelings to make sense.  She knew he would be upset with her if she sent him away, but she had hoped any reaction he gave could easily be written off as whiney and childish.  She didn’t expect to really hear him, to understand where he was coming from.    

Arya let him storm past her towards his room, then she quietly acknowledged, “Shit definitely hit the fan.”  

That was an understatement.  Sansa was texting her older brother to tell him to expect Bran in the next forty-eight hours, as she nodded her head and agreed, “Yes, it did.”  

“This Margaery-chick—”  Arya leaned in, “She as bad as all that?  Enough to move Bran?  For real?  Everything was going good.”

Initially, Sansa felt hurt at being questioned, after proudly recognizing her sister’s faith in her and willingness to enforce her will when she blocked Bran from leaving.  Though, as she thought about it, Sansa could understand Arya’s hesitation.  She didn’t want to see Bran go.  Neither did Sansa, not really.  She affirmed with conviction, “She’s the worst.  I don’t want to see him go either, but I feel like this is the surest way to keep him safe.  House arrest still presents so much risk.”  

Arya nodded her understanding.  Then she looked up, “You gonna take her out?”  

Sansa looked at Petyr and answered, “At the earliest opportunity.”  

Arya grinned and then headed for the door, “I’m going to help Bran get a move on.”

Sansa knew Arya was helping Bran just to get more time with him, and she didn’t blame her.  Taking a deep breath, Sansa turned to Varys, “Have you lined up his next flights?  With minimal layovers?”  

The bald man held up his phone, “It’s all arranged.  I’ll pull the car around.”  

Sansa nodded her appreciation before he left.  She had thought she was protecting Bran by keeping him out of the loop.  All of her other siblings maintained their safety by not getting involved in the life she lived.  Bran was staying under their roof, and working in their clubs,  but they had kept him in the dark as much as they could.  And it backfired.  He was close enough to their world to get into trouble, but not informed enough to be aware of it.  

She thought of her mother and father in this same predicament of deciding how much information had to be shared with the children and how much was to be kept to themselves.  It always felt as though they were more reserved in what they shared.  Though, looking back, Sansa remembered some things from her childhood that made her think that perhaps her parents hadn’t kept her as far in the dark as she had thought.  

Left alone with her husband, Sansa wasted no time in saying, “I want her gone.”

She was thankful that he didn’t bother with a facade of asking who she meant, “I know.  We can’t do anything yet.”  

“Unacceptable.”  Sansa wouldn’t allow any answer but the one she wanted.  

Petyr pulled her hand into his, playing with her wedding ring as he answered, “Right now, everyone is laying low.  We can’t move on her when her guards are the strongest.  We have to wait until things calm down and then find the perfect angle.”  

What he said made sense.  He never said that he wouldn’t get Margaery.  He just told her that it wouldn’t be immediate.  She could live with that.  She didn’t like it, but she could live with it.  She would bide her time for the next week or so and then it would be open season on the Tyrells as her husband plotted with her on how to kill his ex-lover.  She nodded her head in acceptance though warned, “I don’t want this project slipping your mind.”

Petyr brought her fist to his lips and gave her a kiss before he said, “It won’t.”  

It was mere minutes before Bran and Arya were in the living room carrying a couple of duffle bags.  Bran walked past Sansa, only willing to acknowledge Petyr as he placed his car keys in his hand, “Here’s your car back.”  

Petyr gripped the keys and caught Bran’s arm as he made to leave, “I understand you are upset with me.  You do not have to say goodbye to me if it is too hard.”  Sansa knew that Petyr had to learn to say goodbye to people at a very young age and it was easier for him to understand where Bran was coming from.  He continued, “But you _will_ say goodbye to your sister.”  

Bran scoffed and Petyr’s voice deepened, _“Now.”_

Bran groaned and then turned to Sansa, “Bye.”  

She took a step forward and wrapped her arms around him knowing that he wouldn’t push her away for fear of bumping or harming the baby.  He stood still, not reciprocating, and Sansa said what they both felt however deep down, “I do love you.  Whatever you think of me right now, please just know that.”  

After a silence that stretched on, Bran offered a soft grunt and then abruptly pulled away from her.  He picked up his luggage and then left without looking back.  Arya spoke up, “I’m going to follow behind.  I want to see him off myself, make sure that shit actually gets on the plane.  And, if we’re being honest, I could do with a goodbye hug too.”  

“Goodnight, Arya.  Thanks for staying back.”  Petyr smiled at her.  

Sansa turned to Arya, “Sorry you missed out on shellfish.”  

Arya laughed and teased, “Fucking Bran.  Night, Sis.”  

Sansa smiled, “Night.”  

Petyr and Sansa were linked arm in arm, headed for their bedroom and Arya had already gotten at least halfway out the door when Sansa heard her little sister exclaim, “ _Shit!_ ”  

Sansa turned around, pulling Petyr with her, “What’s wrong?”  

“I forgot something on my bike, something I wanted to give you.  Can you stay here for a minute while I run to get it?”  Arya asked, anxiously.  

Something about the hopeful look in her eyes made Sansa agree.  Arya quickly bolted out the door, leaving Sansa with her yawning husband.  In spite of the heaviness of the night, she found herself smiling at his exhaustion and offered him reprieve, “Go on ahead, warm up the bed for me.  This shouldn’t take long.”  

Petyr cocked an eyebrow at her, in question.  Sansa smiled and nudged him along, “Go ahead.  I’ll be right there.”  

He reluctantly left and Sansa had only been standing alone in her living room for a fraction of a second before Arya returned, carrying something in her hand.  Without preamble, Arya thrust the foreign object towards Sansa.  

Inspecting it before she accepted it, Sansa could see that it was a book.  It was weather-beaten and bent into a roll.  The book could not be a hardcover with how it was manipulated, but the outside of it appeared tougher than paperback.  It took her a couple of minutes to realize it was cracked and seasoned leather.  She unrolled it and looked at the title.  It was mustardy-gold colored lettering that had been faded and scratched in places.  She could barely make it out until she read the word, _Elenei._  

Awareness thundered through her as she looked below the faded words to the nautical compass printed in that same color ink, fading and scratched off in some parts.  She knew instantly what this book was and a single tear gathered in one of her eyes as she acknowledged, _Mom._

This book was titled _The Adventures of Elenei_ and it was her favorite.  Sansa had so many memories of her mother sitting in her rocking chair, flipping through the pages of this book.  It was the story of a girl named Elenei whose parents were gods, one of the wind and the other of the sea.  They wanted her to stay with them while they found her an appropriate suitor for marriage.  Elenei had other plans and moved out to pursue her dream of traveling the world.  All of her travels were written in this book, and it ended with Elenei meeting a handsome marine biologist who built her a fortress by the sea so that she could still be near her loved ones.  Her parents, of course, were enraged at her insolence.  They tried multiple times to use their power to destroy her home.  They hoped to use it as a reason for why she should marry another god.  It was no use, however, as the home that the marine biologist had built for Elenei would not crumble.  

Arya cleared her throat, “I remember Dad said that mom read this cover to cover each time she was pregnant with us.  She wanted us to learn about strong women even in utero.”  

Sansa smiled.  She remembered the conversation Arya was referring to, “And he said that he worried it just taught us kids not to listen to our parents.”  

Arya laughed down to Sansa’s baby bump, “You hear that?  You need to learn that women are tough and parents are meant to be disobeyed.”  

“Arya!”  Sansa swatted at her.  Her face got serious then, “Where did you get this?”  

Her voice was hollow as she replied, “Mom’s nightstand.  After--after they cleaned up the room.”  Arya rubbed her palm over the back of her neck as she apologized, “I probably shouldn’t have taken it, or used it as much as I did,”  Arya gestured to the cracks and fading on the leather cover, “I just needed a piece of her.”  

Sansa’s voice caught as she validated her sister, “I know.”  She flipped through the pages, noting that the print inside was not as affected by time and Arya’s use as the cover was.  

Arya leaned over the book and Sansa’s belly, hooking her arm around her neck in a quick hug as she said, “Take care of it better than I did, otherwise it’ll fall apart.  It’s on its last leg.”  

Sansa felt the baby push and roll by her belly button so she reached for Arya’s hand and put it on her stomach.  Her sister’s eyes widened at the feel of movement under her hand.  She broke out into a toothy grin as she spoke down to the belly beneath her hand, “Let your mother sleep.  It’s been a long night.”  

Sansa smiled and held up the book with her other hand, “Thank you for this.”

Arya nodded and gave a quick rub before she announced, “Okay, I need to go make sure Bran’s on a plane.  For my own piece of mind if nothing else.”  

She was already through the door before Sansa could respond.  Looking down at the book, transfixed on the text inside random pages, Sansa slowly walked towards bed.  Her fingers traveled the rough leather cover and she thought of her mother’s fingers doing the same.  She saw dog-eared pages and wondered if they were from her mother or Arya.  Arya was crass enough to violate a book, but Catelyn lacked boundaries in how deeply she loved this particular novel, and could just as easily be the guilty party as well.  

Sansa felt another tear form in her eye as she felt just how deeply she missed her mother.  She had felt this way all night, building more and more, but this took the cake.  Holding the weathered copy of the story her mother cherished brought back so many memories of being held as Catelyn read it to her.  How little Sansa felt in her arms.  How goddamned safe and secure.  Moms always knew what to do; _Catelyn Stark_ always knew what to do, managing everything.  

When Sansa got to the bedroom, Petyr was slouched on the bed looking at something in a manilla envelope.  She glanced down at the book in her hands one last time before a deep need to be nurtured took hold of her and would not be ignored.  She set the book on the nightstand and crawled on top of her husband, straddling him.  He looked at her from above the envelope and it’s contents, and she gently fought against his mild resistance to take it away and drop it on the bed next to them.  

There was no one to offer her nurturing the way her mother had, but she knew she could take her comfort from her husband in a way only he could give her.  Sansa nuzzled into Petyr as she thought of how he provided for her, even in this modern day and age of equals.  Their relationship was a two-way street, she took care of him as much as he did her.  But right then, she chose to focus on what he did for her.  He ushered her safely through this world of crime, calculating and planning his moves to offer her the least impact.  He cared for the child she grew inside, and the family she carried with her.  When things went wrong, he supported her.  He did not argue with her about Bran, only stood by her decision.  She kissed a trail up his neck as she considered that it would not be a mother’s embrace that he could offer her, but it would be an embrace nonetheless.

She had been shifting against his pelvis as she nibbled his neck and couldn’t help but notice that he was not returning her gestures.  His erection appeared absent as well, as she felt no familiar bulge against her.  She bit his earlobe before whispering, “What’s wrong?”  

He shook his head as if to say nothing, and then in a quiet voice, he asked, “When you go shopping with Cersei, who does she bring?”  

Sansa picked her head up, scrunching her eyebrows in curiosity, “What?  Why are you thinking about shopping with Cersei, _now?”_

He offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I’m just curious.  Who’s her bodyguard?”

Sansa cocked her head, “Petyr, you know who her bodyguard is.  Why are you asking me that?”  And why was he distracted with the Lannisters, _now_ of all times?  

“Does _Lancel_ ever guard for her?”  Petyr pressed on, though he did not move from his slouched position, appearing calm.  

Sansa had no idea where this was going, or why she got the sneaking feeling that he was not as calm as he was projecting.  She ran her hands under his sweater, feeling the bumps and grooves of his chest with her fingertips, as she snuggled her core further on his lap.  She hoped to bring his mind back to her and encourage an erection.  She wanted him to hold her intimately, and be that support for her.  She was willing to work to remind him of his role and shrugged as she answered, “Sometimes.”  

“Did he then?”  Petyr asked, seemingly unaffected by her touch.  

Sansa pressed her palms into his bare chest as she answered in frustration, “Yes.”  When Petyr just started back at her, not moving, she was unable to hide her growing disappointment.  Gritting her teeth in annoyance, she demanded, “What the hell, Petyr?!  I am grinding on your dick and you’re asking me questions about _Lancel_ right now?!”

Petyr looked down at her hands under his sweater and reached over for the envelope.  He pulled out a large surveillance photo and held it up to her.  Sansa looked at a zoomed in picture of Lancel placing his arm around her as he escorted her into the store.  She remembered being annoyed at the gesture and found herself even more agitated now.  

A lot had been lost that night: Bran was moving out, Margaery had seduced yet another man in her life, Renly was dead, everyone was laying low from each other.  In the midst of it all, Sansa had been reminded of how much she missed her mom.  

Sansa knew she was strong, but even the strongest of people want to snuggle into someone who can take that burden from them.  Petyr was that someone.  Petyr _was._ Anger flooded her as she stared back at his hurt eyes.  What right did he have to feel hurt?  By what?  An insignificant prick who forgot his place and touched her?  Months ago!  Or by her not caring enough to bother addressing it?  

Letdown by the poor timing of Petyr’s ego, Sansa held the picture back up to him as she judged him, “Are you _fucking_ serious?!  We’ve been through hell and back, and I come to you, wanting your affection.  Instead, you give me useless pouting.  I was so proud of you tonight, now I’m so disappointed.”

Petyr straightened himself a little, shifting her back on his thighs more as he offered defensively, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but how do you think I feel when I see this?”  He ran his fingers through his hair and took a breath, “You never said he was there.”  

“Do I have to?!”  She threw the picture on the bed beside them and continued, “Do I have to report to you each time someone touches me in passing?  Because that’s not going to happen.”  

“It wasn’t in passing!”  Petyr’s voice deepened and his lip twitched, the way it did when he was trying to keep himself in check.  

Her blood started to boil, he could keep himself in check all he wanted with the outside world.  Not with her.  This was her power, getting him to lose control.  She shifted off his legs and spat back, “Oh it wasn’t?  I wanted him to touch me so bad, huh?  Lancel-fucking-Lannister of all people!  Fine, you know what?  How about I stop bothering you with my need to fuck and I just go find Lancel to take care of the job.”

Petyr leaned forward, his face tight and his teeth bared, “Do not even joke about--”  

Sansa cut him off as she moved to stand to the side of the bed, towering over him, “Whose baby am I carrying?”  

Petyr glared at her, silently.  She wouldn’t let him get away without responding, “ _Whose?!_ ”

“Mine.”  He swung his legs around the side of the bed, never breaking eye contact with her.  

Sansa pointed at him as she all but barked, “And whose neck was I kissing?”  

“Mine.”  She could see his cheek flex as he answered.  

“Whose lap was I rubbing myself on?”  Sansa continued to drive the point home.  

He continued to play her game, bracing his arms on the mattress to either side of him, as if to pounce, “Mine.”

“So, Petyr,” She threw her hands up in the air as she almost hollered, “Whose am I?!”  

He ground out his reply, “ _Mine.”_

She had wanted him to realize his stupidity, but more than that, she resented that he needed to realize it right then.  Right when she needed him to be a strong and stable force for her the most, he had lost his brain cells and needed reminding.  Fuck him for not being perfect.  Fuck him for being human.  Fuck him for his poor timing.  Fuck him.  

Sansa shook her head, _No._  Petyr looked back at her, slowly tilting his head in confusion, anger still played across his face.  Wasn’t she just building him up to claim her?  Now she was saying no.  That was surely confusing.  She didn’t care if he didn’t get it; he had already proven himself to be an idiot in that moment.  

She pointed at the floor as her own teeth clenched, “My _husband_ doesn’t need me to tell him that I belong to him.   _He tells me._  Everyday.  Every moment of every day.  He claims me.  Makes me his and reminds me!  As if _I_ would ever forget.”  

“Sansa—” The anger was slipping from his face, and the exhaustion of the night had started creeping into his eyes.

She held her hands up for him to stop, loathing the lack of energy with which he said her name.  Was he daring to be exasperated with her?  Hell no.  He did not have the right to be tired.  He was the one who was being needy when she needed him.  She pointed at the picture of Lancel and her on the bed and said, “Lancel is nobody.  He’ll never be anybody.  And he’s certainly not _somebody_ to me.”  

Obviously realizing his mistake, Petyr started to lose his edge.  He stood up and reached for her, “I know.  I’m sorry.”

She took a step back, avoiding his grasp.  She hated that he apologized, “Don’t be sorry.  Do something!  Pouting on the bed, staring at a photo, is so uselessly juvenile.”  Missing the passion of the anger he had, she nettled him, “Are you a fifteen year old girl, Petyr?”  

His eyes cut to her, his jaw tightening as he warned, “ _Sansa_.”  

She took another step back as she nudged him further, “My husband is Petyr _Littlefinger_ Baelish.  And when someone touches his wife, they go missing.  And then they turn up in the river.”  She lifted her chin, her face a scowl of sincerity, “And do you know what happens to his wife?”  

Petyr took another step forward, reaching for her.  The warm grey-green pools of his eyes had turned to flame.  She continued before he moved to speak, “She gets deeply and thoroughly _fucked._  Over and over, until she forgets everything but the feel of her husband.”

Petyr breathed through his teeth again and grasped her forearm, trying to pull her towards him.  Sansa wouldn’t give in that easily, yanking her arm back away from him. She knew just what buttons to push to make him give her what she needed, and she delivered the coup de gras, “Or are you going to keep thinking of Lancel?  Leaving me with a limp dick again?”  

She had barely gotten the words out before he was on her, grabbing handfuls of her hair and smashing his lips into hers.  His approach was rough and ugly, and in that moment, she wouldn’t accept him any other way.  He growled into her neck as one hand rooted her in place by the grip in her hair and the other greedily grabbed at her breast.  She laughed victoriously while he devoured her, biting her neck and tearing the front of her shirt.  

Petyr’s fingers dug into her backside as he angled her to her side, still careful in his craze to not push on her belly.  He took his firm hold on her ass and breast and yanked her hard into him, his erection bruising her hip.  Sansa felt excitement stir deep in her belly at how well she played him, how she got what she needed from him.  As his mouth worked hers, prying her lips open and forcing his tongue to slide against hers, his hand reached down her pants.  His fingertips were sent on a mission to find the wet heat where her legs met.

She tried to touch him, though with him on her side, it was difficult.  She reached her arm around his neck just as his first two fingers found their destination and slid inside her.  She gasped into his neck and bit him back, while she clenched around his digits, milking them as she would eventually his cock.  Petyr shuddered at her silent promise of what was to come.  Sansa arched her chest up into his mouth proudly and he never loosened his hold of her, only ever adjusting to take more of her _._  

Sansa’s eyelids fluttered at the feel of him consuming her so ravenously: tugging and nipping, sucking and ripping.  It was then that she truly smiled, finally feeling the comfort of his strong arms wrapped around her, holding her in place.  The consistency and security that she craved from a mother’s hug was found in the obscene embrace of her jealous husband’s instability.     


	28. Bye Bye, Bambi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa continued, sliding her sunglasses on, “Thank goodness we’re not in that situation.”

The newspaper crinkled as Petyr unfolded it and pressed against the crease to smooth it out.  He pointed at the front page proudly, “See?”  

Sansa extended her arm around to set his plate before him, her red hair dangling over his shoulder.   He reached up, gripping her arm to give it a kiss before he asked, “How much of that do you think is us?”  

He heard her chuckle, and felt her kiss the top of his head, inhaling the scent of him as she did.  When she pulled away to face him, she guessed, “All of it?”  

He grinned, “Barely any.”  

“Oh?”  Sansa moved around him to take her seat at the breakfast table, adjusting her periwinkle robe to cover her growing belly.  Petyr had a larger one coming in the mail to surprise her, the same color, cut, and texture.  There were things that Petyr would allow to change about their morning ritual, but that robe was not one of them.  He had pined over her in it too long for it to ever be retired from her wardrobe.

“Yes,” Petyr explained, “We initiated, and they ran with it, doing all the heavy lifting for us.”  What was a chaotic haphazard shuffle to most, was a beautiful Waltz to Petyr.  And this dance was a smooth one, everyone falling right into step marvelously.

After the police got it in their heads that they could stop organized crime, a show of force from the families was necessary.  The Tyrells, as to be expected, were a bit slow to the crime spree, but they showed up nevertheless.  The Lannisters had waited, Petyr noticed, to see who would make the first move.  Petyr was happy to oblige, knowing it would only make them look more invested later anyway.  Petyr took the lead and called Bronzy, ever the loyal servant.

Bronze Yhon Royce was a stout man with a bit of a fish-pout to his face whenever he judged something to be beneath him, which was quite often.  Petyr found it amusing how high and mighty the man was considering he was still so far beneath someone who grew up without a name or anything to it.  Luckily, Bronzy (as Petyr so affectionately called him) blindly respected order and hierarchy, and knew his place, regardless.  He may have loved to bow before the Arryns but he was still willing to bend a knee to Petyr just the same.

So, when Petyr called him, he answered.  It came as no surprise that Bronzy already knew what would be asked of him and acquiesced, unleashing his boys and letting them out to play.  There were three Royce sons, all over the age of sixteen, and completely inseparable.  Only once had Bronzy split them up, and it didn’t last long because of the headache it caused.  Each one of them was completely useless without the other.  But together, they were a cyclone of crime, tearing through the city.  Bronzy’s boys weren’t the brightest, but they did as commanded and heeled at their master’s feet.  Petyr smirked knowing that their master knelt at his.  

Sansa’s voice interrupted his thoughts as she asked, “So the Iron Bank wasn’t us?”  

Petyr chuckled, “No, that was the Tyrells.   _I_ would never rob that bank in jest.”  He then lifted his eyebrows at her playfully as she took a bite of her scrambled eggs, “I do it seriously, and subtly.”  

She smiled and gulped down her bite.  She didn’t openly acknowledge what he admitted to, instead playing coy, “What about the police station?”

He sipped his coffee and shook his head, “Nothing so obvious.  That was Jaime.  His need to show off has been very useful.”

“Then, what was us?”  Sansa looked down at the paper that read: _Commissioner Baratheon Ignores City’s Biggest Crime Wave._

“The little things.  It started with convenience store robberies, and drive-by shootings.  Then once Jaime shot up the police station, I thought it smart to send the boys to hold up donut shops.”  Petyr bit back a smile at his own sense of humor.  

Sansa continued to eat as she asked skeptically, “How is that smart?”  

“Because, it’s nothing big to be wanted over, and it looks like we are following the Lannister’s lead.”  Petyr took a bite of his bacon and then smiled at the coincidence of eating bacon while talking about poking at police pigs.  

Sansa swallowed another bite, “There are times that I get tired of following their lead.”  

“You know as well as I, that we killed Renly without including them.  They must know it’s us because no one else knew about the blockade.  It’s doubtful that they would suspect the Tyrells of killing their own.”  Petyr explained as he watched her eat.  

She sighed a little and said, “We control more of the city than anyone, who cares if they know it’s us?”  

He chuckled at her exasperation, “We do run half of the city, and people don’t like it.  Even when they pretend they don’t mind, no one likes to know that their neighbor has more than they do.  It’s a delicate balance, Sansa, you know that.”  He reached over and touched his hand to her belly, “I don’t want to rock the boat right now.”  

She put her hand over his and looked down at their hold on their child before she took a deep breath in and agreed, “I understand.  I don’t want unnecessary drama either.”

He smiled at how reasonable she was until she further added, “But Petyr, I won’t shy from the necessary kind.  Remember what you promised me.”  

How could he forget?  They were going to get rid of Margaery.  But not today; it was Renly’s funeral.  The day was devoted to paying respects while saying farewell to the former Baratheon turned Tyrell.  Petyr watched her stand and lift her plate, reaching to take his.  He waved her off, appreciative of the gesture.  

He had noticed that she was more nurturing towards him in the past week.  An idiot would think it was due to the harsh way she spoke to him the night Bran left, but Petyr knew better.  Her kindness was not an apology for her cruel words.  Sansa would not accept weakness from him, and he adored her all the more for it.  He hadn’t meant to appear pouty or sullen when they discussed Lancel.  

He had been sitting in their bedroom, alone, thinking of the picture when Sansa climbed on top of him.  He barely said anything as she attempted to appeal to his sexuality, and for once he found he could not provide for her so easily.  His mind was still wrapped in thoughts of Lancel’s arm around her.  

It wasn’t a handshake that couldn’t be avoided or a grip on the arm to steady her from tripping.  He was holding her close to him, as if she were his.  Petyr felt his face heat and glanced over at her in the kitchen, rinsing off her plate.  He reminded himself, _That’s_ **_my_ ** _wife, in_ **_my_ ** _kitchen, carrying_ **_my_ ** _child.  She fucked_ **_me_ ** _and cooked_ **_me_ ** _breakfast this morning._

Petyr felt himself cool down and regain his composure.  Sansa looked up, oblivious to his internal dialogue and smiled at him, “It doesn’t make sense for the Lannisters to be upset anyway, because Jaime hates all things Baratheon.”  

Her presence always comforted him, even when he wasn’t supposed to need assuring.  He smiled back at her, “That is definitely in our favor.  Though, however pleased they may be with Renly gone, I promise you they are not with being out of the loop.”  

Petyr chided himself for being so jealous over the lesser Lannister.  He told himself that this issue had already been addressed.  That night, he didn’t have an opportunity to brood over Lancel’s youth or his regrettably handsome face for long, before Sansa put a stop to it.  With their serrated edge, her words sliced through all of Petyr’s insecurities, and left him in a frenzied state of need.

Once he asserted himself with her goading, it was as if she admired him more.  Sansa took care of the ones she loved.  That was plain as day, laying out his clothes and bringing him his breakfast.  He wasn’t sure if her sudden surge in sweetness was because he rose to the occasion or because, in doing so, it gave her such control of him.  Perhaps it was all the hormones surging through her body, giving her an urge to nurture.  He didn’t really care why, relishing her affection all the same.

When they had finished breakfast and showered, Petyr stopped Sansa from dressing.  She looked at him with a sly smile and said, “We don’t have time for this _again_.”

He smiled back and said, “No, we don’t.  But there’s something I want you to wear.  For protection.”  

Sansa nodded her head, “I know, Petyr.  Don’t worry, I already laid out the guns and the knives.  They’re all in their sheaths and holsters, we just need to strap them on.”  

“You think of everything.”  Petyr couldn’t help but feel proud of his wife, so prepared.  Funerals, much like weddings, were events one armed themselves for.  Really, any high-emotion day was one to wear pieces for.  

What one didn’t do was wear armor.  It meant that you intended to shoot and get shot at.  Bringing a gun was just being cautious, wearing a bulletproof vest meant that you _expected_ open fire.  Petyr looked at his young wife, her long auburn locks falling down over her arms and framing her breasts, burgeoning from her pregnancy.  He placed his hand over Sansa’s belly and felt the daughter within.  He had pictured their girl a thousand times, the spitting image of her mother, fiery red hair, and big blue eyes.  Would she be the kind of child that climbed in his lap and let him read stories to her?  Or would she be a holy terror, covered in mud and scrapes, demanding that she be allowed things meant for older kids?  

The pregnancy app told him that his daughter was now as long as a zucchini and had grown eyebrows and eyelashes.  Looking back up into Sansa’s cerulean pools and the long lashes that surrounded them, brimming with curiosity at his sudden sentimentality, Petyr kissed her.  It was slow and cherished, and only when he heard the slightest of sighs escape her, did he pull away to rest his forehead against hers.  He could not lose them: _his girls._  

She stood with him for a moment, allowing him to rest against her.  Slowly, he pulled away and said, “I would like you to wear this.”  He reached in a dresser drawer and pulled out a vest that was made to cover her pregnant belly.  

Sansa stared back at it, confusion wrinkling her brow, “What are you telling me?”  

Petyr knew she wouldn’t like it.  She understood as well as he what it meant, what it would incite if anyone found out.  His mind wandered again to the image of his two redheaded girls laughing and playing together in their backyard.  He kept his eyes from watering and replied, “I can’t take the risk.”  

“Are you going to initiate?”  Her question was pointed in such a way that he knew she disapproved.  He had no intention of starting anything, and found himself proud of her again for recognizing the stupidity in being the first to draw in this situation.  He watched her shoulders tense, and her face tighten as she asked, “What do you have planned?”  

Finally answering her, Petyr shook his head, “Nothing from us.  There are just too many variables in this meeting for me to control for.  I need you to wear this, please.”  

“Too many variables?”  Sansa cocked her head in question as he slowly moved towards her.  The sound of velcro ripping apart filled the room as Petyr opened the vest.

He brought it to her, slowly slipping it over her shoulders.  She wasn’t stopping him, yet.  Petyr took what liberties she would allow, pulling one side of the vest to meet the other as he answered, “The police will be there because it was Stannis’s brother.  With the recent crime wave, they’re all on edge.  Stannis is on edge.  It’s a Baratheon that died, so Jaime will be in rare form.  Cersei’s always a wild card--”

“I can handle Cersei.”  Sansa’s chin was raised as he worked the straps, and he couldn’t help but notice that her current posture displayed her pride in the matter.  

Leaning forward, he kissed her jaw, “I have no doubt.”  He smoothed another strap and continued, “It is not just Cersei; Margaery will be there.”  He said it cautiously, knowing the anger that it provoked.  Until the woman had lured Bran into that bust, he had thought Sansa’s complete and utter hatred for her was a bit overkill.  Now though, he knew his wife was well within her rights to want the woman dead many times over.  It was foolish of Margaery to think she could touch a cub from the Stark Wolf Pack.  

He was grateful that Sansa was willing to include him in helping her to exact revenge.  He shuddered to think of the risks involved if she ran after the woman herself right now.  In the past week, Sansa hadn’t brought up the subject again, and he was thankful.  Sansa was such a passionate creature, and when decided, would move worlds to achieve her goals.  He wanted to wait to make a move until after the baby was born.  It would offer the opportunity for his wife to get her feet under her again.  

It was too close to Renly’s murder to go after another boss so quickly.  Petyr knew that he could smooth things over with Jaime for the hit on Renly, but if they got caught going after Margaery too, Jaime would see it as a power grab, and not just Petyr trying to keep his marriage a happy one.  Where there was a question of retaliation now, it would be certain then.  He shook the mental image of his wife going into labor on a warehouse floor as bullets whizzed past them from his head, swearing to himself that he would not allow that to happen.  

“Of course she will be there.”  Sansa’s voice had hardened, as expected.  She pulled away from him, the vest now securely fastened.  She snatched her dress off the bed and pulled it over her head, smoothing it down over the kevlar.  She picked at it a few times before she turned for her vanity.  Petyr stood in silence, watching her bristle as she readied herself.  She sat down and put her earrings in as she looked at him through the mirror, “If wearing this getup will put your mind at ease, then fine.”  

Petyr attempted to hide his smile, but when he saw her giving him a toothy grin through her mirror, he allowed his happiness to take over his face, unabashed.  As he moved behind her, she held up a string of pearls for him to take from her and said, “The things we do for love.”  

He agreed as he gathered her silky smooth hair and pulled it over to one shoulder.  He brought the necklace around her neck and fastened it in the back as he locked eyes with her in the mirror.  She was so young and yet she carried a wisdom in her eyes that Petyr hadn’t seen in most twice her age.  He watched her hands slide down to her bump as she confessed, “I can’t wait to meet him.”  

“ _Him?_ ”  Petyr asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

She waved her hand, “Him, her, whatever.  I don’t know, and I don’t care.  I just hate calling it: _it._ ”

Petyr leaned down and kissed the top of her head, breathing in the familiar smell of her shampoo as she had him earlier.  He grinned as he asked, “Would you like to know?”  

She smiled back at him and shrugged, “Sometimes.  Sometimes, I do.  But not all the time.  So you can still keep this secret.”  

He didn’t want to anymore.  Before, he liked having this little secret so that he could feel closer to the baby.  But now, he wanted this to be another thing that he and his wife shared.  He shook his head, “I don’t need it anymore.  I want to share it with you.”  

She slowly rose, her voice lighter as she said playfully, “If you must tell me, make it special.  Don’t just blurt it out as if we’re ordering lunch.”  She turned away from him and ordered over her shoulder, “Now, get dressed.  We have a funeral to get to, and the guns in my office won’t strap themselves on.”  

Petyr would hold onto the touching moment they shared that morning to get him through the production of a funeral that brought everyone who mattered together.  And what a production it was, Loras blubbering into the microphone while everyone sat bored and armed to the teeth.  Petyr reached over and held Sansa’s belly as he watched Loras crying over his “Bambi” and how truly deep their love was.  Sansa had clued him into the fact that “Bambi” was Loras’ pet name for Renly after he got a tattoo of the Disney character on his ass.  Petyr worked to contain his smirk over it whenever he watched Stannis squirm uncomfortably in his seat at his brother being referred to by something he had etched on his ass.

Loras sobbed into the microphone, the sun beating down on his golden curls, as Petyr glanced over at Jaime and Cersei in the folding chairs down the aisle across from theirs.  Jaime allowed a small smirk to play on his lips and Petyr looked down to watch the man’s hand sliding between Cersei’s thighs.  Both of them stared ahead, as if they weren’t engaging in sexual acts in the middle of a funeral, Tyrion and their children sitting in the row behind them.  Petyr knew that he shouldn’t be surprised, Sansa had told him that Cersei said funerals turned Jaime on.  Petyr appreciated all the things he learned from his wife’s little chats with Loras and Cersei.  He wondered what information she volunteered about his particular inclinations, but then lost the thought when Sansa’s hand gripped his and brought him back to the present.  

He hadn’t been paying attention, but that was okay.  They weren’t here for the funeral, and everyone knew it.  It was the meeting afterward, the first contact after a week of silence that they had gathered for.  Stannis had risen and was shuffling Loras away from the podium.  Petyr wondered what unseemly thing Loras had said to finally break the camel’s back and motivate Stannis to take action.

Petyr watched Loras take his seat between the two women in his life, Margaery and Olenna.  The later had apparently been released from the home for the occasion and Petyr found himself staring at her, trying to discern how compromised her mind truly was.  Prior to her fall, Olenna’s face was pointed and hard.  It contained all the wrinkles and darkening splotches that a woman her age would, though she had a firmer quality to her.  It was as if behind her weathered exterior was a sheet of steel fortifying the woman against whatever the world threw at her.  Petyr hadn’t thought anything would be able to bring the woman down, let alone a case of mind-mush.  When he looked into her eyes back then, it was as if he was able to see all the truly horrible things she had witnessed.  He would fight back a shiver and tell himself that he was no innocent either.  

He admired her strength, her mind, even though he knew his feelings were not returned.  She saw him for what he was, a boy turned delinquent, grown into a whoring thief who stole the East.  While he knew that she would never regard him as an equal due to his lack of history, much like Bronzy and many of their generation, he had at least hoped she would respect his mind for how he engineered his climb.  When word got out that she had gone addle-brained, Petyr rejoiced over the removal of a possible threat, though he also mourned the loss of a great mind.

That was years ago and she looked different now.  Her hair wasn’t any whiter than before, and as far as he could tell, her wrinkles had not spread any further.  But there was a softness to her that he had never known before.  It was an ease she wore across her face and her slumped shoulders.  Her eyes had a glimmer to them that told him though her body was there, she was not present at the funeral with them.  

Loras sobbed large, unrestrained tears into her sagging breasts, but she barely looked down to acknowledge her grandson clinging to her.  The Olenna that Petyr had known would have brushed him off and told him not to be so dramatic, to pull himself together.  The Olenna before him now appeared unaffected by her grandson’s weakness, neither chastising him, nor comforting him.  Petyr felt a pang of disappointment at the confirmation of a mind lost, and then he glanced down at Sansa’s belly and thought, _It’s just as well.  We don’t need added risks._

Margaery rubbed Loras’ back as Stannis droned on about how much potential Renly had, as if reading from a book that contained appropriate things to say about one’s departed sibling.  Petyr rolled his eyes at Margaery’s oversized hat and little black dress, as if she expected to hook up with someone at the funeral.  His mind flashed to Jaime and Cersei for a moment and realized that the idea was not that far-fetched.  Behind Loras, a hand came out and clasped him on the shoulder in support.  Petyr followed the arm to see it belonged to a handsome, young, blonde man and he wondered if this was the Olyvar that Varys reluctantly told him about.  

Petyr turned to his right and gave Varys a questioning look.  The bald man looked down and nodded slightly.  It was clear that he didn’t want to give away his informant, and Petyr wondered just how close they were getting.  Petyr felt a tickle of irritation over the situation, noting that if Varys was really so in love with him for years and years, it seemed easy for him to grow feelings for some young blonde instead.  As if Sansa were in his head, she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and leaned her head on his shoulder.  Petyr could imagined her words, _Get over yourself, Mr. Center of Attention and let the poor man get laid._

Jon sat to Sansa’s other side and held a serious face, as he was prone to do.  Petyr knew that the week being locked up on their estate and away from his girl was wearing on Snow, and he felt bad whenever he placed himself in Jon’s shoes.  Petyr glanced between the Lannisters and the Tyrells and hoped that after today, things would relax some.  If he didn’t relieve Jon of his duty soon, he would have to start considering allowing the girl to come over.  That was not an idea that Petyr was fond of.  What if the other families paid her to use her insider view of their home to their advantage?  The conditions of her visit would have to be controlled, and it would require careful planning for.  

As Stannis finished his monotone tribute to his more flamboyant brother, the minister came in and spoke some words over the casket before it was slowly lowered into the ground.  Everyone rose from their seats, the Lannisters being the last to stand.  Petyr noted the flush on Cersei’s face and the smirk on Jaime’s.  People started to line up single file to pay their respects to the family.  Stannis awkwardly took his place beside the Tyrells.  After the immediate family had passed, it was understood that major families were next in line, all others came after.  Jaime flashed Petyr a grin and said, “After you.”  

 _Better angle for the stab in the back,_ Petyr mused to himself.  He nodded and Varys stepped out in front of them in the aisle, taking his place as first line of defense.  Petyr lead Sansa out and noticed the way his queen smiled at Jaime’s.  She touched her fingers to her cheek and Cersei mirrored the gesture, feeling how hot her skin had gotten.  The blonde rolled her eyes at Sansa and she snickered back at her.  Petyr stifled a chuckle at realizing his wife had also noticed the Lannister activities, despite the play of rapt attention she offered Loras and Stannis, speaking on their departed loved one.  Petyr took his place beside her, ignoring the implied single-file rule and wrapped his arm around her waist, flashing Lancel and Kevan a quick look as he did.  He heard Sansa breath next him, “Yes Petyr, I’m yours.  They all know it.”  

As they walked, he pressed a kiss into the side of her head so he could speak into her ear, “At least I’m not _‘pouting_.’”

Petyr could feel her breathe a shallow laugh and was glad that his possessiveness was amusing to her.  He hadn’t forgotten that she held some affection for Renly in her heart, and this day was probably harder for her than she was letting on.  She hadn’t had an opportunity today to read that book that her sister gave her either.  He had noticed that she enjoyed reading from it each day, and knew it helped her to feel more connected to her mother.  Without the support she got from it, today would be even more difficult for her.  Any way he could make her laugh, he would.  

Jon trailed behind them as they made their way through the line up, each whispering their apologies to the family, with Jon nodding his head rather than speaking.  Margaery’s face soured as she glared back at them, not hiding her feelings.  Loras offered empty smiles and worked to maintain his composure.  As Sansa approached him in the line, he flung his arms around her, “Oh Shortcake!”  

Instantly, Petyr reached around Sansa, and pushed the barrel of his gun into the side of Loras’ ribcage.  He spoke through gritted teeth, “Release her now.”  

Everyone’s hands flew to their their guns, ready to fire.  The Lannisters had positioned themselves to block the view from the crowd behind them, and rested their own hands on their concealed weapons in preparation for however they would be dragged into this display.  In that moment, Petyr wasn’t sure which side they were supporting, and mused that they just didn’t want to excluded again.  

Stannis stood with his wife and daughter to the side, glaring at the awkward hug that Loras and the Baelishes were locked in.  Loras stood stunned by the ferocity that radiated off of Petyr and he glanced around him, noting the heightened awareness of everyone around them.  He released his grip, holding his hands in the air, and spoke carefully, “I apologize.  I only meant it friendly, because we’re friends.  Right, Shortcake?”  

Petyr holstered his gun before he wrapped his arms around Sansa and pulled her close to him.  He felt her nod against his cheek as she answered the Tyrell, “Of course, Loras.  But, no touching.  Not a funerals.  You know that.”  

Loras nodded his head back to her and fought back another sniffle.  Margaery placed her hand on his arm and said, “Forgive my brother, he is too distraught to follow formalities.”  

Stannis interrupted by clearing his throat and said, “Let's get on with this.  I won’t put up with someone getting killed at my brother’s funeral.”  He turned to his wife, a plain woman in modest attire, and whispered in her ear.  She turned away from them, insisting that her daughter do the same.  Petyr didn’t loosen his grip of Sansa as he watched them.  When the little girl turned to face him, he saw the white bandages that covered part of her face, despite her mother’s efforts to cover it with her hair.  She turned to follow her mother away from the crowd.  Everyone had begun to relax, removing their hands from their weapons.  Jon, of course, was the last to do so.  His loyalty to Sansa spanned years and Petyr knew without a shadow of a doubt that Snow would die for his wife.  It was something he was grateful for daily.  

As Varys and Petyr led them to a big tree with lots of shade about a hundred feet away, Petyr wondered if Loras felt the vest under Sansa’s dress.  He looked back to search the man’s face, looking to see if he would give anything away.  Nothing in his mannerisms told Petyr that he had a clue what they were trying to conceal.  He thanked his lucky stars that it wasn’t Olenna that hugged Sansa.  With a working brain, no matter how grief-stricken, she would have known.  Then again, Petyr knew that Olenna would never be reckless and stupid enough to pull a move like that in the first place.  

Petyr watched the Lannisters stroll over to join them and was glad to see that Kevan and Lancel were escorting the kids away.  Only Tommen was still technically a child, though all three were still cared for as such, escorted to safety.  Petyr wished he could escort his child to safety too.  

Only Tyrion got to follow Jaime and Cersei.  Varys was Petyr’s right and Petyr was Sansa’s, Jon was a faithful bodyguard but a bodyguard nonetheless.  Petyr was about to excuse him when he noticed Sansa pull Jon close to her and whisper in his ear.  Jon offered her his puppy dog eyes, probably silently asking her if she were certain.  When she nodded and he started to walk away, Petyr knew she had dismissed him.  It must have been hard for Jon to leave, especially after seeing such a potential threat, but he was nothing if not dutiful.  

Jaime took his place beside Petyr and crossed his arms over his chest, “Terrible turnout.”  

“Mm.”  Petyr agreed.  

“You don’t think it’s because a lot of people are still homophobic, do you?” Jaime cocked an eyebrow, seriously asking.  

“Could be.”  Petyr would play along if need be.  He watched their wives whisper to each other, smirking their pleasure.  He knew that Jaime had sent Cersei to feel Sansa out as he felt out Petyr, divide and conquer.  The Tyrells would be over shortly and then they wouldn’t be able to discuss anything.  He needed to know the Lannisters would back him, so he cut to the chase, “It was a present.”  

“A present, really?”  It was Tyrion who answered.  

Jaime laughed and gestured around him, “What?  All this?”

Varys’ voice sounded from beside Petyr, “Don’t you like the wrapping?”

Both Jaime and Tyrion smiled at that.  Jaime insisted, “You never shared this with me, Baelish.”  

Petyr smirked as he said, “Because that would ruin the surprise.”  

It was Tyrion who pressed further this time, “You plan everything out.  Surprises aren’t your preference.”  

“So much is changing,” Petyr pointed to the pregnant belly his wife gripped lovingly.  “I saw the opportunity, and I wanted to be generous.  Besides, whether or not I like surprises, does not matter.  Jaime and Cersei do.  The gift is not for the giver.”  

There was silence as Jaime and Tyrion deliberated over his words and then suddenly he heard Cersei cackle off to the side and exclaim, “You looked it up?!”  

“Yes, you whore!”  Sansa answered with light laugh.  

Jaime smiled at the two women, appearing to enjoy the way they engaged.  Petyr watched his posture relax and his face soften.  Sansa’s crazy relationship with Cersei may have saved them from Lannister wrath yet.  Tyrion was not as enchanted by the women as he noted, “Present or not, Renly was a boss, Baelish.  There is power to be gained in killing a boss.”  

Jaime stared back at him, waiting for his response.  Petyr took a breath and worked to appear unaffected, “Hardly.”  He glanced over to see Sansa watching him as she smiled and spoke with Cersei.  She was studying his conversation, gaging how he was doing.  He wanted to make her proud so he carried on.  “How many other Tyrells are there?  I’m hardly dethroning them.  And if that was my goal, don’t you think I should be going after Loras, or even Margaery?  Renly was nobody, just somebody’s husband.  I chose him because he’s a Baratheon.  Someone you would have a preference for.”

“But now, Baelish?”  Tyrion was relentless in fulfilling his duties as right hand, “Why give us such a gift now?”  

He couldn’t hesitate, he had to show strength, “To clean up your mess.”  

Jaime’s head whipped over to him, offering his complete attention.  Petyr had to talk fast to avoid retaliation, “You thought it would be fun to toy with the Baratheons, and get the weakest one arrested.  He would squeal our secrets in jail, he wasn’t made for it and you know it.  But perhaps, in your desire to make the boy uncomfortable, you forgot about that detail.”  

“Which is it Baelish, a present?  Or were you cleaning up?”  Jaime cocked his head to the side in question.  

A calm washed over Petyr in Jaime’s heated gaze, as he replied, “Can’t it be both?”  He pointed back at their wives, “We have children, the Tyrell’s don’t.  They don’t understand the importance of strong allies.  They have no respect for tradition, or the way of things.  You saw how he muckled onto Sansa.  Maybe I want to keep company with people who fit in our world, now more than ever.”

Jaime and Tyrion eyed each other for a moment and then broke out into a brotherly laugh.  “You should have told us that you were worried about Renly yapping!”  Jaime quietly exclaimed, “We have a guy on the inside that shuts people up.”  

Tyrion smiled, “The Mountain.  He’s very effective.”  

Petyr’s eyes darted over to Sansa, knowing that the Clegane bother wouldn’t be incarcerated forever and that one day he may return to contest his brother’s will.  Jaime chuckled, “Relax, Baelish.  He’s not out for at least four, maybe five more years.  Besides, since we’re such good friends, giving presents and all, you shouldn’t worry.  We’ll keep a leash on our dog.  It’s only polite.”  

Petyr forced himself to chuckle and appear unphased.  He knew that when the time came, he would have a plan for Clegane.  They were just trying to ruffle his feathers as payback for the hit, and he knew it.  Ultimately, the playful way they spoke, told him that they had accepted his explanations and were pleased with the death of another Baratheon.  

All talking quieted down as the Tyrells made their way over to the small group; it was just Loras and Margaery.  They must have excused Olenna to go back to the home, giving her mind reprieve from all the tearful mourners shrouded in black.  After seeing how she’d changed, Petyr couldn’t blame them.  

No sooner had they approached, than Petyr caught sight of Stannis coming their way.  His strides were long and purposeful, and he was there within minutes.  He was the first one to speak, and it was with a determination that only the death of a loved one warranted, “I am _done_ with all of you.  Now that my brother has passed, I won’t turn a blind eye anymore.”

Margaery started, “Now, Stannis, I underst--”

“No!  You will all hear me now!  I will not look anyone up, tap phones, take photos.  I will not ignore robberies, or drug deals.  And I sure as hell will not brush bodies under the rug ANYMORE!”  Stannis’ scream on the last word could be heard across the graveyard.  

Petyr was surprised at the man’s lack of composure, always one to be so restrained.  He appealed to him, “Stannis, you’ve made a lot of money working with us.”  

“Fuck it.”  Stannis’ breathed out, exhausted and dejected.  “I just don’t care anymore.  If anyone of you so much as runs a red light, I’m pulling you in.  I’m _done._ ”

There was a silence that hung in the air after that.  A slight breeze picked up the heavy quiet and tumbled it around a few times, sure to hit each member of their party with it’s weight, before it finally flew away, allowing them to speak again.  

Jaime cleared his throat and reached into his pocket as he said, “Well, that doesn’t work for me.”

Stannis scoffed at him, though Jaime continued as if he hadn’t noticed.  He turned to Cersei, “Babe, got a lighter?”  

She smiled and handed him one as he produced a fat joint from his pocket and sparked it up.  He took a deep inhale, and spoke as he held it in, “You’re not done, Baratheon.  Not till we say.”  He slowly exhaled and passed the pot to his wife.  It was such a fuck-you to Stannis, and only Jaime and Cersei had the audacity to do it.  The Lannister grinned, savoring the feel of the marijuana in his system, “Your brother may be dead, but your daughter is not.”  He shrugged with his cheeky smile, “I get that you grew some balls today, hell I even respect you a little for it.  But now it’s time to shrivel that shit back up and remember your place as our bitch.”  He pointed at the cars, towards Stannis’ wife and daughter, “And her hero.”  

Before another long silence carried on, Loras spoke, “Just go, Stannis.  While you can.”  

 _Loras is not as dumb as he looks,_ Petyr acknowledged.  Stannis’ fists clenched and he growled before turning around and stalking off towards his family.  When it was certain that it was just them, Loras lost whatever intelligence Petyr thought he had by making his thoughts known as he asked, “Why now, Jaime?  Why did you kill him now?”  

Margaery interjected before Jaime could answer, eyeing Petyr, “We don’t know that it was him.  It could have just as easily been the Baelishes, too.”  

“You keep saying that, but only Jaime hated Renly.”  Loras’ face was tight as he glared at the Lannister.  

“You keep saying that?”  Petyr asked.  Thanks to Loras’ loose lips, there was no hiding how Margaery was targeting them now.  

Uninterested in the Baelish-Margaery drama, Jaime shrugged as he replied to Loras, “I barely knew the man, how could I have hated him?”  

“Because his brother fucked your wife.”  Loras said without hesitation.  Petyr noted how he had dropped all civility and went right for the truth.  Loras seemed to think he had nothing to lose, and was reckless in his blunt statements.    

Though the polite smile remained on Jaime’s face, Petyr could see the slightest of tightening around his eyes and mouth.  Cersei subtly moved the hand that she had rested on his back, rubbing in circles.  She was calming the beast within her husband.  Before he could say anything, Margaery jumped in again, “I doubt that’s it.  Everybody’s fucked somebody.”  

“Haven’t we?”  His smile was fake and his words tight, but Jaime continued to engage.  He understood the game, the back and forth necessary.  The Tyrells were showing their hand and had no respect for the process, speaking over others.  While Jaime may have disliked being cut off by her, she was saving him some responses.  Petyr and Sansa had been remaining quiet, knowing that it was best to let enemies talk themselves into their graves.  Jaime was a showman, and often spoke too much.  The Tyrell’s were trumping him, and possibly saving him from showing his hand too.

Margaery continued, “If we were going by that for a reason, the Baelishes would certainly be guilty.  After all, Baelish only got where he is by fucking the hell out of his wife’s aunt for _years._ ”  

Petyr’s teeth clenched so hard he thought he would break his jaw as he flashed his eyes over to Sansa, standing on the other side of Cersei.  She gave no response to the outside world, but he knew better.  The way she let her arm hang down so the locket pendent of her bracelet could fill her palm told him she was seeking something to calm herself.  

Petyr would be lying if he said that he had planned to tell her how he got to his place of power.  She had never asked and he hoped she would never would.  He breathed through his nostrils, “There’s no need for such vulgarity, or to drudge up a past that has no bearing on today.”

Ignoring him, Margaery pressed on, “Is it strange to fuck two women from the same family?  Or is that what you were going for?  I hear her mother’s dead, but doesn’t she have a sister?  Is she next?”

Sansa’s fists had gone white in rage.  Petyr knew it was mention of Catelyn that pushed his wife over the edge.  Sansa was ready to lash out, put the bitch in her place, when he spoke first, not letting the words fly out of her open mouth, “Is there a reason behind such a personal attack?”  

“I’m just trying to point out that fucking people over for power is in your nature.  It wouldn’t be that outside of the box for you to be behind Renly’s death.”  Her sneer was ugly and the way she pointed at the ground for emphasis would be almost comical if Petyr wasn’t so focused on the way her words affected Sansa.  

Loras shook his head, “Stop it, Margie.  You know as well as I do that the Lannisters were the only ones not represented in that bust.  Sansa’s own brother was there.”  

Cersei scoffed, “You’re going to blame us, because we know how to keep our children safe?  Sansa’s brother wasn’t even supposed to be there, was he?  No family members, just Renly, because he _volunteered!”_

“And how convenient that he volunteered!  To what?  Go on an arms deal? Everyone knows that Renly didn’t know anything about guns.  No, there was someone behind that.”  Margaery’s gaze darted between the two families.  

Sansa had regained her composure, her voice light and reasonable as she addressed Loras, “Renly always wanted to impress you, didn’t he?  There’s no one behind that but Renly.  Your _husband_ wanted to make you proud.”  

Loras started to tear up as he nodded, “He was such a good man.”  

Margaery whipped around to Sansa, “Maybe it’s you!  Baelish fucked his way to the top, but he left Renly alone for years.  I bet it was you.”  

“Why would I kill Renly?”  Sansa asked, rolling her eyes as if it was the dumbest thing she had ever heard.  

“To get back at me!  Because Petyr and I slept together.”  Margaery spat out and then offered a smug look.  

Petyr glanced over to Sansa; she wouldn’t meet his eye.  He chided Margaery, “There’s no need to be crass and throw accusations around.  If Olenna had not lost her mind, she’d think you lost yours.”

“Go ahead and deny it, Petyr.  Tell your picture-perfect wife you didn’t fuck me.  I bet she’s gullible enough to actually believe you when you lie to her.”  Margaery’s arched her back proudly as venom dripped from her lips.  

Petyr felt his heart beating in his chest and a ringing in his ears.  Everyone knew it.  Fuck!  Sansa probably even knew it, even though it was never said.  It was history, it didn’t matter.  Surely?  It shouldn’t matter.  It was once, terrible, and way back then.  Not now; not with Sansa.  He looked at his wife as she stood completely expressionless.  Very subtly, he noticed her smoothing her palms over her dress, picking at her clothing.  It was a gesture she made often when she was with the Hound, one that Petyr had not noticed from her in years.  

She was disgusted, he knew it.  In the span of minutes she’d discovered that he had slept with her aunt for years and had thrown in her face that he had indeed banged the Tyrell too.  He hated Margaery for that, for challenging the happiness they had.  Petyr sneered a warning at her, “ _Margaery.”_

She ignored him and turned her attention directly to Sansa, “How perfect is your husband now?”    

Petyr wanted to scream at her to shut the fuck up or he would shut her up.  He wanted to unload his gun into her face, to make her mouth stop moving.  He hated how far away Sansa was.  If she were by his side, he would grip her close to him and not let her leave, no matter how mad she might have been.  He would fix this, he would calm her and bring her back to the closeness they had before.  

Sansa’s voice was calm and cool as she offered a smile that only Petyr knew to be fake, “He’s wonderful, actually.  I worry about you though.”  

“What?”  Margaery scrunched her face in confusion, surprised by Sansa’s redirection.  

“Yes.  You’re not thinking clearly.  How could you, fucking my husband _years ago_ , ever bother me?  And, if I were upset, how would me killing Renly fix anything?”  Sansa shrugged her shoulders and looked around as if the idea of it was beyond her.  Then she focused back on Margaery and laughed, “I think in that situation, I’d much rather kill _you._ ”  

Margaery scoffed and looked around.  Sansa continued, sliding her sunglasses on, “Thank goodness we’re not in that situation.”  She offered a quick look over to Loras, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”  

Jaime laughed, “Thank goodness!”  Cersei laughed too and slid her sunglasses on as well.  

Sansa and Cersei turned away, motioning for Petyr and Jaime to follow.  Petyr knew she needed to escape, fly away from there.  Cersei was following her lead, and Petyr couldn’t be more thankful for her support.  Both families walking away would disperse the blame.  Sansa called over her shoulder, “We’re done here.”  

“Excuse me?  What the fuck?!”  Margaery hollered back at them.  

Tyrion put his sunglasses on too and shrugged, “You have no idea who did it.  And no one’s taking ownership.  So you can drop it and we can continue to co-exist.  Or you can declare war and die.”  He then turned to Loras, “So sorry for your loss.  Renly had an exquisite palate and is a real loss to the foodie community.  He introduced me to many of the finer cheeses, and I will always be grateful to him for that.”  

Petyr would have laughed if Tyrion wasn’t so sincere in his words.  To think that the only nice thing he had to say about Renly was his taste in cheese.  At least the little man made the effort.  Loras tilted his head, holding back a tear as he smiled at him, “Me too.  He showed me so many things.  Thank you.”

Tyrion nodded and walked away, allowing Petyr the moment alone with Margaery that he had been waiting for.  He leaned in to her as he watched Sansa and Cersei stroll away, Jaime and Tyrion trailing behind, “Regardless of who did it, after the sloppy way you handled things today, our families will only support each other, _against you,_ if need be.”

“Fuck you, Petyr!”  Margaery hissed.  

“No thanks.  We’ve already played that game, and I found your hand a bit weak.”  He forced himself to smirk back at her to hide the anger that boiled beneath his skin.  She had upset Sansa, spoken of things that were not to be said aloud, and he would see her punished for it.  He just needed the right opportunity.  

Varys smiled, “Thank you for bringing two families so closely together.”    

Petyr chuckled at his right’s jab.  Following Tyrion’s lead, he turned to Loras, “I apologize for all the ugliness of the day.  The words you spoke for your beloved were beyond beautiful, and that is what will be remembered.  Your love.”  And then he took it a step further, “When you are feeling better, you must call us.  Sansa misses you.”

“Thank you, Baelish.  I’d like that.”  Loras smiled back, naive in his appreciation of kind words.  He was the weakest link for the Tyrells, and Petyr would have gladly manipulated him for years.  Now with Margaery in the picture, distorting things, Petyr wasn’t sure how long their world would allow such innocence.   

Petyr turned and walked away, taking larger strides to catch up with his wife.  He didn’t hear the bald man following, but he knew he would be gliding close behind to block any shots.  Jon had stationed himself against a tree to wait and quickly moved behind Sansa as she passed, leaving her back uncovered only to open her car door.  Petyr got in on the other side and searched her face for emotion.  She offered none, her mask strongly in place.  

His heart raced in his chest, and pounded in his ears, barely noticing Jon and Varys’ doors slam shut as they got in the drivers and passengers’ seat.  He knew she was angry, and that he would face her wrath.  More than that, he knew she was hurt, and he just wanted to hold her.

Sansa stared ahead as the car started to accelerate and began smoothing out the skirt of her dress.  Petyr winced as he watched her try to keep herself together, not a stray hair out of place.  He reached for her hand only to see her pull away suddenly, her words sharp, “Do.  Not.  Touch.  Me.”

He didn’t recognize his voice, so desperate as he tried to speak to her, “Sansa—”  

“No.”  She was visibly vibrating with her anger now, as she turned away to face the back of Jon and Varys’ heads, indicating that they were not alone, “No talking.  Not now.”         

 

       

 


	29. Fourteen Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She didn’t turn her head as her arm extended to the side, gun in hand. He knew she didn’t need to look. Sansa was a skilled marksman who always hit her target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is twice the length of my typical chapters. It just kept going and splitting it into two parts would have screwed up the flow. So please enjoy this extra long chapter that is in BOTH POVS!!!! 
> 
> And major thanks goes to Faradaze for the endurance she had in not only editing this extra long and emotional chapter, but in making the time to do it as soon as possible. She's a kick-ass lady and I'm lucky to have her thorough eye.

Sansa fought to keep from screaming in frustration the entire car ride home.  Petyr’s eyes on her only added to the desperate need she felt to expel all the awful thoughts and feelings that swirled around her insides.  She wanted to snap, to tell him to quit gawking at her, but she was too overcome with rancor to speak.  

She had worked so hard to maintain her composure in front of the other families, even as that vile bitch spewed garbage from her mouth.  And she would have doubted the whore’s words if Petyr had given any indication at all what so ever that she was lying.  He didn’t, however.  In fact, he did nothing at all.  

Sansa knew her husband was no saint, that he was guilty of everything that slut said about him.  But she wouldn’t allow herself to react to it then, so exposed in front of so many.  She stood proud, swallowing her feelings as she kept on her mask of impassivity.  Sansa wouldn’t look at him as she forced herself to boast that he was wonderful at a time when she felt completely disgusted by him.

She couldn’t think trapped in the car with Petyr so close.  She needed to be alone.  Varys kept glancing at her in the mirror, checking to see what she would do, how she would react.  He had a front row seat to the cat fight at Renly’s funeral.  In the past, he might have enjoyed the way the Tyrell roasted her, but now his eyes in the rearview mirror held no satisfaction, only _pity._  She loathed to see that from him; pity was for the weak.  Luckily, Jon was saved the train-wreck.  Though, by the way he shifted in his seat and kept glancing around, he knew something was wrong.  

She would have reached forward to rest her hand on his shoulder in reassurance, if she wasn’t so preoccupied with Petyr’s presence beside her.  He was desperately trying to touch her, letting his hand sit too close to her thigh, shifting his legs wider, attempting to rest his knee against her.  Something, anything.  Any point of contact.  She curled in closer to her door, as if the touch of him would elicit vomiting.  He lied and fucked, and in that moment she couldn’t stand to be near him.  She gripped her door handle anxious to bound out of the car the moment it stopped.  

She saw Jon and Varys off as she stood next to Petyr in the driveway, watching Jon walk around to his place in the pool house and Varys pull the town car away.  Again, she stared straight ahead, unable to look at Petyr.  And again, she felt his watchful gaze studying her, searching for an opening, a way in.  She couldn’t allow that, not now.  How could she open up her thoughts and feelings to him when she didn’t even know what they were herself?  She didn’t have time to process, to piece out what was real and fabricated, rational and irrational?

“Sansa,” Petyr’s voice was low and with great trepidation, though the presence of it at all was an imposition that made her bristle.  She shook her head no, not now.  

He took a step forward, reaching his hand out to her.  He had waited long enough to touch her, and they were all alone now.  The car ride was miserable, and he’d had all he could stand of it.  Wasn’t she fed up too?  Wasn’t she longing to feel as connected with him as he was with her?  

Sansa backed away, avoiding the contact.  No, she wasn’t.  She needed room to breathe and she couldn’t do that with him beside her, his presence so large.  Her voice was low as she said, “Not now, Petyr.”  

 _Yes, now._ He needed her, didn’t she see that?  Did she not care?  She was upset, sure.  But he would fix it, once he had her again.  That’s how it always worked.  Didn’t she realize that?  He persevered and took another step, “Please, Sansa.”  

She shook her head again.  She was telling him what she needed and he wasn’t listening, too damned concerned with making himself feel better.  She felt awful, so why should she allow him any comforts?  His dishonesty and secrecy lead them to their current situation, why should she grant any reprieve from his own awful feelings?  She turned away from him, walking towards the house, determined to avoid the feel of him.  She spoke over her shoulder, “Give me space.”  

 _No._  He had.  He had given her space in the car, a whole solid foot of space between his hand and her leg.  The distance between her body and his was great enough to fit another person between them, _Margaery-fucking-Tyrell._ The distance between her heart and his was immeasurable and he wouldn’t tolerate it any longer.  “Sansa!”  He walked after her, his volume rising.  

 _Don’t push me, Petyr._  She grimaced as she felt him continue to persist, continue to disrespect her needs.  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his Aston Martin parked in front of one of the garage bays.  Sansa kept walking, shaking her head to be left alone.  He was relentless in his mission to engage her, paying no heed to her request for distance and time.  

At the feel of his palm clasping her shoulder to stop her, she dropped her hand into her purse.  Earlier, when she had packed all the weapons, she had pre-screwed silencers on them in case they needed to use them.  She was thankful of that now, as she wrenched out of his grasp and pulled her gun out of her bag.  She kept advancing toward the house, barely looking at her targets as she fired.

Petyr stared at the beautiful rivers of red hair that flowed down her back as they got further away from him.  She didn’t turn her head as her arm extended to the side, gun in hand.  He knew she didn’t need to look.   Sansa was a skilled marksman who always hit her target.  It wasn’t until she had already fired that Petyr glanced to the side, cringing at the two tires of his favorite vehicle as they deflated.  For a moment, Petyr was genuinely glad that when she pulled the gun, she had pointed it at his car and not him.    

“I told you to give me space.”  Sansa demanded as she crossed over the threshold of their home, not willing to allow their conversation to slow her down.  She was going to get her time alone, even if she had to shoot more things to get it.

Unsure of what to do, Petyr stopped following, and stood feeling impotent in their driveway.  Petyr quickly fantasized about driving over to the Tyrells and hauling Margaery out by her hair, throwing gasoline on her and tossing a match.  How could this one person, this one complete and utter waste of skin, wreak such havoc on his marriage?  

Space.  Sansa told him that she needed space.  He told himself that he could do that.  He was a grown man, not some needy heartsick boy.  Petyr inhaled slowly through his nose and closed his eyes, pulling himself together.  It would be dinner soon enough, and he would see her then.  Besides, she hadn’t left their home.  It was a big house, but she was in the same house, at least.  There was hope in that.  

Sansa walked straight for their bedroom, slamming the door behind her, throwing her purse and shoes across the room as she did.  She squirmed out of her black dress and stared at herself in the mirror, knife strapped to her thigh, another tucked in between her breasts and a small handgun under her left arm pit.  She stared at the bulky kevlar vest covering her and her child and she felt tears well in her eyes.  The risk involved in wearing it was great, but he asked her to, told her that he _needed_ it.  He needed something, and she gave it to him.  

What had he given her?  Humiliation.  For years, she had plotted and planned, worked hard to get revenge against the Hound and a place in organized crime again.  And then he showed up: Petyr Little-fucking-finger Baelish.  He seduced her, promising her utter devotion, equality, everything she didn’t dare dream of.  His words put ideas in her head: _us against the world, king and queen of the city_ .  It was such bullshit.  Tears streaming down her face, she tore at the velcro straps like a wild animal ensnared.   _Fuck your protection, Petyr.  Fuck your needs.  Fuck your lies of omission and the pretty broken picture they painted._

She threw the vest on the ground, ripping off the straps and holsters still clinging to her.  She barely heard the heavy thuds of all the weapons falling to the floor around her.  As she padded across the floor to her closet, she felt her child stir and froze.  She was not alone.  What did the child know?  Nothing obviously, it was a baby.  She knew it could hear things though.  Dr. Luwin said that it could feel fluctuations in her body when she was stressed or relaxed.  She watched tears land on her stomach and took a deep breath as she spoke down to her belly, “It’s okay, baby.  Momma’s just a little upset right now.  But it’s not forever.  I’ll figure it out.  I promise.”  

She wiped the tears away from her face and took a deep breath.  She pulled the first tank top  and sweats she saw out of her closet, and eyed the wolf pelt hanging towards the back.  She ran her fingertips over it, the gruesome memory of it’s origin calling to her.  She thought of the child that rolled over to get comfortable within her and felt a twinge of a smile grow at how far it had come along, how much it had grown.  For the first time since the funeral, she smiled.  She whispered encouragement to her child, “We are strong, you and I.  We survive things.”

After she dressed, she climbed into bed, and wrapped herself in her comforters.  As she lay there, she felt her child move around inside of her.  It was at that special feeling that only mothers feel, that she decided to push thoughts of Petyr from her head.  He was ugly, and her baby was beautiful.  Too tired to think anyway, too emotional to sleep, she pulled her mother’s battered book from her nightstand and whispered, “Want me to read you a story?”  She tried not to think about the mob boss that awaited her beyond the door, and smiled at the little flutter she felt by her bellybutton, “I’ll take that as a yes.”  

Petyr tried to stay in his office, allowing her free reign of the house without having to see him.  Even though he didn’t want to hear her when she expressed a desire to be by herself, he eventually did.  The Aston Martin definitely accentuated her point.  Petyr knew that he should be planning.  Margaery was at the root of this.  It would be practical and efficient if he used this forced time away from his wife to start plotting the slutty Tyrell’s demise.  Each time he attempted to zero in his focus, thoughts of Sansa intruded.  

He knew that because her own past was so painful, Sansa often looked forward to the future, trying not to concern herself with the road already traveled.  It is because of this, that Petyr knew she wasn’t aware of his history.  And he wasn’t willing to initiate conversations over the subject either.  Petyr was living well, he had the most power he’d ever had, a beautiful young wife with a like mind, and a daughter on the way.  Why would he ruin a good thing by drudging up the unseemly truths of the past.  Now that he was here, and they were happy, who cared about the path that brought him there?  

She couldn’t fault him for that, surely.  And besides, she never asked.  Why should he be punished by her silence simply because she suddenly decided to care about ancient history.   _You’re fooling yourself_ , he thought to himself.  He knew exactly why he should face the chill of her absence.  He should not have left her so unprepared.  Knowledge was their weapon and while he took great care to wrap his family in kevlar, he did not arm them with their best weapon.  

Hours had gone by and he had not seen her, though he knew she was still in their bedroom.  He loathed the distance.  He could not think without her, even if she were mad, even if she were shooting things.  He walked up to their bedroom door, his hand hovering above the doorknob, about to assert his presence in front of her, when he heard her soft voice through the door.  Who was she talking to?  And why the fuck wasn’t she talking to him?  

Petyr leaned in, listening to see if it was Cersei, or Arya.  Jon, maybe?  Out of all of them, Petyr hoped it was Jon, but knew it wasn’t possible.  The man couldn’t talk on the phone.  His next hope was Arya, even though she could be hot-headed, she did seem to genuinely regard their relationship.  She may cuss him out with her, but Arya would bring the conversation full circle, he was sure of it.

Very quickly he realized that it was not Arya either.  As he listened, he heard Sansa telling tales of adventures and sea creatures, love and acceptance.   _She’s reading a fucking book right now?!_ He felt ready to burst with his annoyance.  He was agonizing all this time and she was reading a fucking book.  Out loud, no less.  

Wait.  She was reading a book, _out loud_?  Petyr suddenly realized what she was doing.  She was reading her favorite book to their child.  He stood motionless, listening.  He pictured her curled in bed, rubbing the baby’s back through her belly as she read, and he wanted to be there with them, more than anywhere else on the planet.  His eyes fixed on the grain of wood centimeters from his face, while his ears studied the tone of her voice.  It was warm and maternal.  He closed his eyes to feel her words when he heard her sigh, “What are we going to do, Little One?  Daddy’s waiting for us, and I’m still not ready.  What would Elenei do?”  

Petyr took a step back, unsure if she was preparing herself to get up and come face him.  After a few minutes went by and she had not come to the door, an idea sprang in his head: Dinner.  Sansa had to eat.  He sprinted for the kitchen and turned on the burners to the stove while he pulled out some pans.  

It wasn’t long before he had dinner cooked and plated.  He knocked on the door to their room, and made his voice as gentle and unimposing as he could, “Dinner’s ready.”  

Sansa had been reading to her baby off and on as she laid in bed.  She would read until the words didn’t make sense, then she would stop and let the ugly pain of the day creep into her thoughts.  She would cry and grind her teeth as she swore at everybody who wasn’t there until she couldn’t take her emotions anymore.  Then she would breathe and focus back on her mother’s book.  

When she heard Petyr knocking, she couldn’t bring herself to respond.  Sansa knew that after all this time she would have to see him, unable to avoid him forever.  As she laid in bed, she hated him at times, and then others that she didn’t, she was just simply _sad._  She wasn’t sure which emotion would prevail when she saw him.  As she listened to him through the door, words would not come out of her mouth.

Petyr sighed and set the plate on the floor, about to walk away, when he considered the baby.  “You have to eat, for the child.”  

Was he just using their child against her?  That was unfair.  What right did he have to use their child against her?  He should be groveling after what he’d put her through.  Sansa rose out of the bed and got about halfway to the door when she saw the knob wiggle.  

 _Did she lock the door on me?_ Petyr questioned, his face screwed in disbelief.  That was his bedroom too.  Hell, it was his goddamned house.   _Was._  It _was_ his house, and then it became theirs.  He tried to keep his voice level as he asked, “Sansa?”  

She felt a blush creep over her.  She hadn’t meant to lock it, or maybe she did and didn’t realize how silly it was.  People did all sorts of things in the heat of the moment, locking the bedroom door was not that far-fetched.  She exhaled, unable to find an appropriate answer, and feeling pretty embarrassed.  Sansa shook her head at herself, and decided to rise above the ridiculous situation that she had created when she was so freshly wounded.  She had walked the rest of the way, and was inches from the knob when she heard him exclaim, “Sansa!  This is crazy.  Open the door!”  

She bristled at his demand.  It was a mistake, an accident.  She knew more than anyone that it was dumb.  She didn’t need him telling her that it was ‘crazy’ and she didn’t appreciate the way he spoke to her just then either.  Suddenly, she didn’t care how asinine locking the door had been.  She crossed her arms over her chest and found her voice, “No.”

Silence proceeded.   _No?_  Petyr blinked at the door incredulously.  Just no?  The first word she spoke to him after hours was _no._  Petyr’s lips tightened in frustration as he realized that the key was in their bedroom.   _Fuck._  

Sansa hadn’t heard any movement outside the door, so she started to believe that perhaps Petyr was not going to charge in after all.  She scoffed at his lack of initiative, his sudden willingness to retreat.  Perhaps she made the right choice being alone.  She wouldn’t bother with him if he was either too lazy or too weak to assert himself.  After all, did she marry a man, or a boy?  She turned back, and got within reach of the bed when she heard the sound of metal scraping against metal.  

It was subtle and quiet, but there all the same.  Petyr wouldn’t be kept from her any longer, not while she was right there, in their home.  So what if he couldn’t find the key?  He knew how to get where he needed to be.  Within minutes Petyr was crouched down, scraping the pins inside the lock on his door.  He made a mental note to use a better lock in the future, finding it too easy for him to pick.  He wanted to eavesdrop, see if she would say anything else.  But Petyr couldn’t break his concentration, knowing his work would bring him closer to her.  

Sansa froze, listening the clicking sound of the locking mechanism on the door disengaging.  Her heart beat faster in her chest and she knew he was coming for her.  There was no more hiding, no more distance.  The knob turned and the door slowly opened.  She knew she shouldn’t be as anxious as she was, it was just Petyr, the lying asshole who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.  But she just couldn’t help it.  The muscles in her legs tensed, preparing her to fight or flight.  Adrenaline filled her system uselessly, as her body simply chose to freeze instead.  

When Petyr opened the door and saw her standing in the center of the room, all the choice words that he’d picked about her locking him out died in his mouth.  She wore loose sweatpants, and a tank top that hugged her rounded belly, and breasts.  He couldn’t stop himself from noticing her black bra through the light material.  It was something he found quite appealing on any regular day.  She knew he had a preference for it too and would flounce about the house like that with just a pair of lacy panties: her Slutty Sansa look.  Though, he suspected that this was not on purpose, because of the big baggy sweatpants and the fact that she was dressed that way when she was alone.

Sansa had not expected silence from Petyr.  She searched his face and was surprised by what she found.  Was that lust?  She let her eyes dart down at herself, and noticed her attire, something she hadn’t thought of prior to putting it on.  Sansa felt her eye twitch in irritation.   _Seriously?  He’s fucking checking me out right now?_  

She knew that he wouldn’t leave now that he was in front of her, not until things were said.  But, perhaps she could upset him enough to leave of his own accord.  After all, in the one and only serious fight of their relationship, she was able to push him far enough to ask her to leave.  She knew she could push him to that point again.  Sansa knew her strongest skill was cutting people with her words.  She may even get a few answers in the process.  Sansa held her head up, and braced herself for whatever answer he gave her as she hollowed her voice and opened fire, “Did you fuck my mother too?”  

Her question smacked Petyr in the face.  The notion was crass, and ugly.  His eyebrows wrinkled, his mouth pinching in disgust as he asked, “How could you ask me that?”  

 _Easily.  To make you leave.  To hurt you.  To see your face,_ she thought to herself.  She asked because she wanted him to know what it felt like not knowing everything about his spouse.  She narrowed her eyes at him and said, “Apparently, you have a taste for women in my family.”  

Petyr shook his head, “No.  I have ‘a taste’ for you.”  

“And yet, you fucked my aunt, for _years._ ”  Sansa rested her palms on her hips, settling in for the long haul.  “Don’t deny it.  You didn’t when it mattered, in front of all those people.”  

Petyr looked down at the floor, guilty.  He had been expecting this.  For hours, he had been anticipating her anger.  His voice softened and his eyes offered her sincerity, “I am sorry.”  

Why wasn’t he fighting back?  Was he really dumb enough to think that a quick and simple apology would take away the humiliation she felt in front of everyone?  Or the feeling of being completely sideswiped by some dirty bitch who loved to fuck men and screw women over?  “So am I.  For thinking that half the things you said were true.”  

“I have _never_ lied to you.”  Insulted that she would doubt him, Petyr emphasized the truth.  It was when he saw her scoff at him, that his jaw tightened, “You also never asked.”  

Sansa let go of her hips and felt her fists bawl at her sides as she shot back, “Oh, I’m sorry, should I ask men if they’ve fucked anyone in my family before I let them inside me?  Is that standard now?”  She raised her voice in a mocking tone, “Hey Joe, any STD’s?  No?  Good, how about children?  Any kids?  No.  Hmm, ever fucked a member of my family?  There’s a complete directory here for you to look over.”  

“Stop it.”  Petyr felt the barrage of her sarcasm slap against him.  

“No, I don’t think I will.”  Sansa took a step forward, peering at him.  “You never stopped lying to me.”

Petyr felt his face heat, and his voice deepened, “ _No.”_  She startled a little in response to the sudden intensity of his voice.  He spoke through tight lips as he explained, “I never lied to you.  I didn’t tell you.  And can you blame me?”  

 _Yes._ Sansa stared back at him about to say as much when he continued, offering sarcasm of his own, “How did you want me to tell you that I was your aunt’s boy-toy for years?  Over dinner?  Maybe during one of our breakfasts?”  Sansa was rolling her eyes and starting to turn away.  Petyr knew he had to be foul to keep her attention, “Perhaps, the perfect opportunity was post-coital.  Let you lay completely naked, filled to the brim with my cum, as I told you, what again?  That I fucked your aunt?  Or that I’m responsible for her death?  Which upsets you more?”  

Without hesitation, Sansa replied, “That I was the last to know.”  

For the briefest of moments she felt a smidgen of guilt over not caring that her husband killed her aunt.  The woman was blood, and her mother loved her.  Sansa should have felt some sort of familial connection to her, some sense of loyalty, despite the woman’s cold nature.  But she didn’t, and for no good reason, other than that she simply cared for Petyr more.  

Back when she was researching all the major players in her quest to take down the Hound, she had learned that Petyr “Littlefinger” Baelish had _taken over_ the east.  She had heard that he was a usurper who had worked for her aunt and uncle; he was not family who inherited his place.  There were no details on the matter, just that he was in charge now, after years of serving.  It didn’t take a genius to figure out what a “take over” entailed.  She’d done the exact same thing with Sandor “The Hound” Clegane.  On some level she had always known that Petyr was responsible for her aunt’s death, even though it wasn’t in the forefront of her brain.  She was not prepared, however, to hear about their intimacy.  

Sansa told herself that her aunt was dead, it was nothing to be concerned or jealous over.  At least she didn’t have to see her face, like she did Margaery’s.  She didn’t have to listen to Lysa boast about the feel of _her_ husband between her legs.  Sansa kept her breathing even as she stared back at Petyr.  

He couldn’t deny the point she made.  His young wife, belabored with a surge of hormones and recent grief from not only the loss of a pseudo friend, but also a brother she was only recently coming to bond with, was nothing if not focused.  She did not care that he killed her aunt, nor did she seem horribly affected by the intimate nature of his relationship with the woman, as far as he could tell.  She was merely upset at not being privy to it all.  For that, he could not blame her.  Though he would not apologize for it again, as she had already rejected his offering.  He would instead explain, “I spent years on the street, fending for myself, until I was offered a job working for the Arryns.  Jon appreciated my skills and brought me to the house, where Lysa discovered me and appreciated other things…”  

Sansa rolled her eyes at him, not wanting to hear the gory details, but still wanting to know the meat of the matter.  She finished the sentence for him, “So you fucked her, long term, because she was a stupendous lay apparently.  I get it.  And then one day you killed her and my uncle.”  

Petyr shook his head, it wasn’t that simple.  “I screwed her while I made connections.”  He knew he would have to get gruesome to get her to dispel any notion that he was being less than honest with her, “I wore condoms when I could to avoid the feel of her.  To you, she was ‘Aunt’ but to me, she was the awful horse-faced woman I had to please to keep getting ahead.”  

Sansa shook her head, she didn’t want to hear this, “How did you kill her?”  

“I didn’t.”  Petyr slowly walked towards her, finally leaving the doorway.  He braced himself for whatever reaction she would have to the brutal honesty he was about to give, “I had Clegane do it.”  

The air caught in Sansa’s lungs.  The same man that killed her mother had killed Lysa, _at Petyr’s request_.  What else had Petyr requested?  She barely recognized her own voice as she asked him, “Did you have Clegane kill my mother?  Or was it his own idea?”  

Petyr shook his head, vehemently.  “I promise you that I did not.”  

She needed to know if he was being honest.  Sansa couldn’t allow herself to keep sleeping with a man who may have orchestrated her parents passing.  She had let Clegane ravage her repeatedly and it had killed a part of her.  She couldn’t put herself through that again.  Seconds turned to minutes as she stared into his eyes, appraising him.  It was with great caution that she passed her judgement,  “I believe you.  But I also think that you know more than you are saying.”  

He had hoped that she wouldn’t notice, though so long under her scrutiny, he shouldn’t have been surprised.  If asked directly, he wouldn’t lie to her, but it wasn’t in his nature to volunteer anything extra either.  When she told him to tell her, he regretfully replied, “I do know who did.”  

Sansa felt her heart skip a beat or two and her palms sweat in visceral response.  Her husband knew more about her parents murder than she did.  After the events of the day, it was only fitting that he would betray her this way.  He seduced her, joined her family, _impregnated_ her, all the while knowing who was responsible for her mother’s death and not saying a goddamned word.  She felt her stomach turn in disgust and she couldn’t bare to look at him.  

Petyr watched her face screw in revulsion and knew he had to talk quickly, “It was Lysa.  She convinced Jon that your parents were going to turn on him because they wouldn’t deal in drugs.  They were too clean, ‘high and mighty’ Lysa called them.  Jon sent his man, Clegane, and his boys to your home.”  

She felt herself shiver at the memory that night: running around the dark halls to her father’s secret room, watching the blood pour out of her mother’s throat, hiding in the laundry chute.  She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and focused her gaze back on Petyr.  “And what part did you play in all of this, Petyr.”  Sansa asked, wondering if she truly wanted to know.  

Petyr continued with his recount of history, knowing that his part would be coming up.  “Jon and Lysa took over the north and ran both, much as we are now.  Until I took a more active role.”  Petyr looked away, only then starting to feel any guilt over the actions of long ago.  “With all my time with Lysa—”

“Fucking her.”  Sansa interjected, not in the mood to mince words.   

Petyr sighed, “Yes.  I convinced her to turn on Jon.  I told her the best way would be to attract Sandor’s father, and get him to kill Jon in exchange for the North.  I assured her that she wouldn’t really have to give anything away, that I would take care of it all.  She had come to favor me for my ability to clean up messes, tie loose ends.”  

Sansa cocked her head, “Did you?  Take care of everything?”  

Petyr nodded, “Shortly after Clegane, Sr. murdered Jon, before Lysa could renege on her deal with him, the Hound and I made a deal of our own.  He killed Lysa for me, and in exchange, I killed his father.  Both of our hands were dirty, and yet both were clean.  Sandor took the north and I took the east side.”

Sansa had known that Petyr had worked with the despicable man who murdered her parents, but had not imagined that he would make such a serious pact with him.  She immediately wanted to poke holes in it, “Everyone knows that the person who kills a boss is the person who rises to power.  You killing the Hound’s father did not give you the east any more than him killing Lysa gave him the north.”

Petyr smiled, taking a step closer to her.  He felt encouraged by the logic she was showing.  It was a welcomed break from how reactive she’d been.  Emotions ran high and were fickle, not something to be ruled by if one could help it.  Logic on the other hand, was consistent.  It put him at ease to see this shift in her thinking.  “Clegane’s men would have turned on him if it had been discovered that he killed his own father.  It couldn’t be traced back to him, and had to look like an accident.  He would naturally fall into his respectful place, upon the passing of his father.”  

That made sense to Sansa, but not how Petyr could make the jump to ruling the east.  “What about you?”  

Petyr took another step forward, now almost close enough to touch her.  He worked to control the grin on his face as he proudly explained, “I offered to take on the work of finishing his father in exchange for him ridding me of Lysa.  I could have killed Lysa myself, sure.  I had thought about it thousands of times.  But it was good to have something over him, and it kept me clean in an investigation.  Your cousin Robin was too young to do much, and with no one to claim him, the state took him.”  

Sansa didn’t miss the slight twitch in his eye as he said it.  Being raised by the state himself, Petyr was sensitive to such things.  Sansa remembered their family’s lawyer contacting Robb about Robin, telling him that the state would not approve custody of the boy on account of there already being too many children already under his guardianship at such a young age.  Robb didn’t seem too upset by the idea of not having to take in another stray family member, already overwhelmed by the ones he had.  Sansa did not know Robin well, barely remembered what he looked like, though she remembered being angry about it at the time.  

Petyr continued, appreciative of how well she seemed to be taking it, “Everyone knew that it was me behind it, even if another man’s hands did the work.  With no legitimate heirs to the Arryn family available, it was easy for me to take over.  There was very little resistance, and what there was, was easily addressed.”  

Realization hit Sansa as she breathed, “Varys.”  

Petyr nodded his head, remembering the look on the bald man’s face as he wrapped piano wire around the neck of the first man to refuse Petyr’s rule.  Varys set the example, showed what happened to those who rejected Littlefinger as the new head of the east.  It marked the start of a long and loyal friendship between the two of them.  

She ran his words through her head over and over, before suddenly understanding so much more than she had before.  She barely noticed his hand make contact with her arm, thinking about everything, trying to both picture and not picture it.  She could see why he found it difficult to choose the right time to share all of these sordid details with her.  That still didn’t make it right.  

Feeling his arms come up around her, she took a deep breath and she silently acknowledged to herself that she had never asked him, either.  She felt his chin rest on her shoulder and smelled his minty breath.  It was stronger than normal.  Petyr tended to chew through his mints and gum more when he was nervous.  She liked that she made him nervous.  It served him right to be on the edge of his seat.  

Feeling the warmth of his body against hers, she sighed a little and said, “I should never have found out from that whore.”  

It felt so good to finally hold her in his arms that Petyr had to tell himself to pay attention to what she was saying, stay grounded in reality.  He agreed, “I know.  It should have been me.  I really am sorry.”  

Sansa had been thinking of Margaery’s face when she told her about Lysa and her mind naturally slipped to the awful way she also verified that Petyr had in fact ‘slept with’ her.  Sansa knew it, in her bones she knew it, despite trying like hell not to.  Her face and chest heated in renewed anger as she glanced down at her purse on the floor.  The gun she had used to shoot out Petyr’s tires was in that purse.  She vowed, “I am going to kill her.”  

Something in the way she said it told Petyr that if he released her from his grip, she would be in the car speeding towards the Tyrells.  It was impulsive and dangerous, and it would blow up in their faces.  “We will get her when the time is right.”

Sansa bristled in his arms, “Who says when it’s right?”

Petyr rubbed his face into her neck, trying to ease her back into the comfort of their embrace, “Sansa, it’s too soon.  We just got rid of Renly.”  He let his hands drift to her belly as he tried to speak reason into her ear, “You can’t go after her, you’re pregnant.  It’s too dangerous.”  

Sansa hated being treated as if she were fragile glass, best kept high out of reach on a shelf.  Her pregnancy was not a disability.  Her voice hardened and she responded, “I was made a fool for the world to see.”  

Petyr closed his eyes, accepting her pain.  Sansa’s pride had been wounded and she would not rest now until she’d gone for the woman’s jugular.  He tried again to appeal to the mother in her, “We should wait until after the baby.  Nobody wants you caught in a shoot out.”  

He was right to not want her put in harm’s way, and she knew it, as much as she hated it.  She also knew that he wasn’t agreeing with her.  In fact, he never agreed with her.  Not on the subject of Margaery-fucking-Tyrell.  Each time she put the woman down, Petyr remained silent.  In fact, during the funeral, he remained silent yet again.  It was Sansa that fought for their family.  Not Petyr.  Not Littlefinger.  While that dirty slut told the world that she had intimate knowledge of Sansa’s husband, he meekly tried to change the subject.  

Sansa pulled out of his arms and turned on him, “Was she that good of a fuck, Petyr?”  

“What?”  His eyebrows furrowed and his jaw dropped.  What the hell was she talking about?  One minute he was holding her and the next, she looked ready to murder.  

She glared at him as she clarified, “Margaery.  Was sex with her so goddamn amazing that you keep defending her?”  

“Defending her?”  He felt as if he had been zapped into an alternate universe and couldn’t follow the conversation that he and this other worldly Sansa were having.  “I have never defended her.  I hate her too.  For what she did to you.  For what she did to Bran.”  

“If you hate her why won’t you say a word against her?”  Sansa challenged him, not accepting his supposed distaste for the slutty Tyrell.  

Petyr recalled all the times Sansa had put Margaery down and it almost always included the men that had screwed her too.  He was not one to speak ill of himself so he never responded.  He realized now how it had nettled Sansa and he found himself growing annoyed, “What did you want me to say?  Yes, all men who ever fucked her are ignorant dickheads, _myself included_!”  

After knowing for so long and hearing the world say he fucked her, Sansa believed she would be prepared for Petyr himself to finally admit it.  She had asked him openly, expecting an open answer.  She did not accurately anticipate how it would feel actually hearing the truth from him.  

She looked as if someone had kicked her in the gut and Petyr wasn’t sure what he had said.  He ran through his last words over and over again until he realized that this was the first time he’d ever acknowledged that he had in fact fucked Margaery.  He instantly went back to logic and reason and shook his head, “You’re not _jealous_ of Margaery, are you?”  

“Am I the one who gets jealous?”  Sansa threw her reply back at him automatically.  She often reminded him that he was the one in the relationship who was obsessively possessive and could be jealous of her clothing because they hugged her closer and longer than he could.  She paced in front of him, her face tight in frustration as she replayed Margaery’s smug smile as she declared that she had slept with Petyr.  

Watching Sansa pace in front of him, her gaze intent on something that wasn’t there, Petyr suddenly grasped the idea that she may be jealous.  He noted how her fists clenched, ready to punch or strangle her rival and he suddenly felt a tingle below his belt.  His woman was posed to kill another because she had touched him, touched what was hers.  He bit back a smile, recognizing that this situation was usually the other way around.  It was very flattering, and oddly arousing.  He tried to keep the amusement out of his voice as he said, “I think, in this case, you are.”  

“Fuck you!”  She was didn’t bother to hide her defensiveness.  

Petyr couldn’t hold back the laughter that crept out of him.  He reached for her as he said, “Sansa, you’re being irrational.”  

She pulled away from him, and almost yelled, “Why?  Because I’m not comfortable with some bitch you plowed?”  

Again, Petyr reached for her, and when she pulled away, yet again, he raised his hands in surrender.  He kept his voice calm as he reasoned, “It was before you and I got together.  The night of the benefit gala.  That was the only time.”

Sansa crossed her arms over her chest, determined not to let him in.  She was mortified at the funeral to have their personal business shared with the world.  Now in the safety of her bedroom, she felt dragged over the coals all over again.  It was not easy, listening to her husband admit to banging the brains out of Margaery and then judging her for having feelings about it.  Who was he to judge what she was allowed to feel?  For months, she told herself that she was being irrational and tried to sweep it under the rug.  And then it came and bit her in the ass, in front of an audience, no less.  She wasn’t going to ignore her feelings anymore.  She threw back sarcastically, “I guess that makes it all okay then.”  

Her words were logical, but the tone of her voice seemed otherwise.  Petyr scrunched his brow in confusion, “Actually, yes, it does.”  

“Tell that to Lancel!”  Sansa smacked him with his most recent jealousy.  He stood silent, not taking the bait.  She cursed herself for earlier easing his worry over the Lannister.  If she had not, it would have been an excellent card to play now.  

“Lancel doesn’t matter.  You told me that.  Now I’m telling you that Margaery doesn’t matter either.”  Petyr tried to be rational for the both of them.

“Then why doesn’t it feel that way?!”  Sansa’s voice rose higher than she meant it to.  She turned away from him and took a deep breath, trying to control her voice as she said, “I hate every inch of her for having every inch of you.”  

He felt the weight of her words.  It stopped being cute or funny that Sansa was finally jealous over someone and started to feel as serious as she truly felt it was.  This was the painful side.  He knew this feeling all too well.  Petyr felt this way when he saw Clegane paw at her and each time he knew she was climbing into the Hound’s bed.  He wanted to soothe her, take that awful feeling way from her the best he could, “It was once, terrible, and I thought of you the whole time.”  

“Why would you say that?”  Sansa looked back at him abhorrently.  Why would he think for a moment that she wanted to hear that he was thinking of her while he was exploring another woman’s body?  

Petyr shook his head, unsure of what to say, “I don’t know.  I just thought that it might help, somehow.”  He suddenly felt stupid for saying it.  Embarrassment colored his cheeks, calling forth a shroud of defensiveness, he tightened his mouth and retaliated, “Knowing you were having a horrible time helped me handle you fucking the Hound, _repeatedly_.”

At mention of Sandor Clegane, Sansa felt her stomach flop over.  Memories of her lying still and letting her mind float away as the Hound gyrated on top of her body flashed in front of her eyes.  Whatever Petyr went through with Margaery, it was nothing like what she had.  He could tell her that it was a terrible time all he wanted, but she was sure it wasn’t.  

Sansa felt she had to let the Hound inside her.  Conversely, Petyr had sought to be inside Margaery.  Sex was not work for him like it was for her.  She fought back, “Bullshit.  I don’t believe that it was terrible or you wouldn’t have done it in the first place.”  

Petyr hated to be doubted so much by her and his voice grew firm as he responded, “Believe me or not, I don’t care.  It was awful.”  

“Show me.”  The words had come out of her mouth before she realized she was even thinking them.  Her eyes widened at the realization of what she had just suggested.  

Petyr stared back at her, his own eyes containing his disbelief, “What are you saying?”  

Her pride wouldn’t allow her to go back now, she held her chin up as she said, “You heard me: _show me_.”  

“You want me to fuck you?”  Petyr’s eyebrow cocked, skeptically.  The scoundrel inside of him felt a touch of hope at the prospect.  Her fury was gorgeous, her hair wild, eyes alight, and chest heaving.  He couldn’t deny that her current state coupled with her attire, as well as his intense need to touch her intimately, made him ache for an opportunity such as this.    

She felt an involuntary tingle between her legs at his words.  She tried to ignore the damp that formed on her panties and gritted her teeth, determined to make him uncomfortable, “Yes.  Just like you did Margaery.  Don’t leave a goddamned thing out.”

Petyr felt his face heat at the suggestion that he pretend to be fucking Margaery while he was with Sansa.  He could not hide the agitation in his voice as he asked, “How will this prove anything?”  

“I will know if you’re full of shit.”  Sansa stood firm in her belief that she would be able to tell if he were lying to her by how he touched her.  She had no basis for this feeling, yet she felt it regardless and committed to it.  

He knew that she had dug her heels in and no one was going to get out of this until she had her way.  He glared back at her, both daring her to back down and praying she wouldn’t, as he unbuckled his pants.  He was already hard from their fighting and told himself that at least now he didn’t have to try to hide it.  

Sansa looked down and scoffed at his erection.  She startled when he grabbed her hand and wrapped it around him as he growled, “She started rubbing my dick in the car.”  

Sansa lifted her gaze from her hand on his cock to his face, challenging him to stop this ridiculousness.  She would not be made a fool of or dismissed again.  She tightened her grip as worked him up and down and met his eye as she said, “Like this?”  

“No.”  He answered bluntly.  “She didn’t have the practice with my body that you do and it was lacking.  That, and I wasn’t focused, so it was a useless exercise.”  

“Then why are we doing it?”  Sansa pursed her lips at him defiantly.  

Petyr knew this was not working out how she had planned and offered her a smug smirk, “You wanted the whole Margaery experience.”

“Fuck you,” she pulled her hand away then asked, “Then what happened?”  

“I thought of you.”  Petyr refused to lie to her just because she was upset.  “She kissed my neck and I closed my eyes and pretended it was you.”

Sansa scoffed, “I’m not kissing your neck.”  

“What a shame,” he replied in frustration.  

“Then what happened?”  Sansa pushed further.

Petyr sneered, “She started talking.  And I hated it.  I told her to be quiet and to bend over the bed, so I wouldn’t have to see her.  It was easier to picture you that way.”  

Sansa raised an eyebrow at him and when she saw him nod and gesture to the bed with his head, she slowly turned around and bent over.  She didn’t have to wonder how far he would take this, or how far she would let him, as she felt his hand grab both the waistband to her pants and her underwear all at once, yanking them down.  She yelped a little in surprise and felt the cold air hit her ass.  

Petyr stared at Sansa’s backside, along with the pink opening between the tops of her legs, and throbbed to be inside.  He dipped a couple fingers in, feeling her wetness and he chuckled victoriously, “I spit on my hand and coated my dick, not knowing—or caring if she was wet.  But I see I won’t have to do that now because you’re plenty wet for me.”

“Shut up, Petyr!”  Sansa growled as she felt his fingers leave her and his cock enter.  She exhaled as her insides filled with him, and she instantly wanted to rock back and forth on her knees, giving herself some much needed friction.  To her increasing agitation, he gripped her hips to still her.

He took a firm hold of her, as he had Margaery, years ago.  “I closed my eyes and repeated your words in my head over and over, as I fucked her.”  

Sansa held in her pleasure as he guided himself in and out of her.  She was determined to be unaffected, to not give him the satisfaction of her responsiveness.  “What words?”  

“That we should fuck each other out of our systems.”  Petyr grunted as he pumped into her, picking up speed and force, trying to pull a response from her.  He loved the sound of her, and she was being obstinate, silently taking him.  He pushed further, “I heard your voice in my head and pictured your lips as you said, ‘ _fuck each other_.’”

Sansa felt a flutter in her belly and wasn’t sure if it was the baby or excitement over the memory of their exchange at the gala.  She glanced over at the mirror on the wall to see Petyr holding his face up to the ceiling, eyes closed as he rammed himself into her.  Sex with him was not like this at all.  He was always looking, always touching.  This had to be fake and she damn sure was going to call him on it, “Bullshit.  I know you.  You don’t fuck like this.”  

Petyr dug his fingers further in her hips as he clenched his teeth in anger.  She wanted this, to feel what Margaery felt, and now she was criticizing him for it!  Spit flew from his lips as he yelled, “With you!”  

Sansa met his fire with her own as her voice raised, “What?”  

He had lost all patience as he barked out, “With you, Sansa.  I don’t fuck like this with you!  But, why wouldn’t I with a whore?”  He pushed himself into her further and further, accenting the following clarification, “With a goddamned hole I paid for?!”  

Sansa quickly looked at the bed, hiding the smile that grew across her lips.  This really was horrible, and he really didn’t take much joy in fucking that dirty cunt.  It was with his rough touch and anger that she realized how little the Tyrell had to boast about.  Petyr’s voice sounded above her, “I thought about your face, your tits, and your ass as I came.  Then I pulled out and walked over to the nightstand.  I grabbed one of the plan B pills I used to keep on hand and a bottle of water.”

Petyr bucked furiously into Sanse as he continued to narrate that evening, “She told me that she was on birth control and I told her that I didn’t give a shit, she wasn’t leaving alive without taking the goddamn pill.”  

“I bet you said that to all the girls.” Sansa laughed down into the mattress, feeling her satisfaction with the situation growing.

Petyr felt the intensity of things diminish at her joke and let a laugh escape him before he gave her a good hard crack on her ass with his open palm.  She moaned in pleasure and he felt himself twitch in excitement at hearing her.  Finally she was responding to him.  He started to slow down, become more careful in his thrusting, as he continued, “I didn’t spank her, that was all for you.  For being so cheeky just now.”  

Sansa bit the comforter to keep from answering.  She noticed his tempo slowing down as he spoke, “When I was satisfied that she had swallowed the damn thing, I called her a car and escorted her to the door myself so she wouldn’t steal anything on her way out.  I jumped in the shower and then went to bed _thinking of you._ ”  

His hand reached down below to find her nub, and she gasped at his expert touch, “Do you want to know what specifically I thought of as I drifted off to sleep?”  

Sansa very much did want to know, but she also didn’t want to keep breaking her silence.  She couldn’t show him how easily he was affecting her.  She refused to answer, as her breathing became more labored.  

When he realized that she wouldn’t engage, he shared the information with her anyway, “Your lips.   _Fray_ , I believe was the color, I looked it up.”

Sansa’s eyes widened in surprise.  He knew the name of her lipstick!  Men didn’t bother with these things.  But Petyr did. _Her_ Petyr knew these things about _her._  She relished his need to know everything about her, and listened as he continued, “I spent every night thinking about those lips, needing them.”  His other hand moved from her hip to affectionately rub her back.  

This was the Petyr she knew, what she’d grown to expect from him.  She sighed into his adoring touch and didn’t fuss when he nudged her, shifting her over, to lay on her side.  Her sweatpants and undies had gathered at her knees, and his hand moved from her back to rest in the bend where her thigh met her hip.  Turned this way, she could watch him smile warmly from above as he made love to her.  

She couldn’t look past her belly to see his hand between her legs, but she felt him there, insistent on attending to her.  Sansa held her arm up, reaching for his face.  She suddenly needed to touch him, feel the short hair of his goatee under her thumb.  Sansa cupped his cheek, and maintained eye contact with him, hoping her eyes would tell him what she lacked words to say.  

Petyr smiled at her touch and closed his eyes, rubbing his cheek in her hand before he turned his face and kissed her palm.  As he looked down at her, he spoke his heart as he had a hundred times in their marriage, “You’re everything to me.”  

She nodded her head, panting at the feel of his fingers building her arousal.  Sansa couldn’t deny the tenderness he showed her, or the harsh abrasiveness he’d shown Margaery for no other reason than that she simply wasn’t Sansa.   And she knew that Margaery didn’t stand a chance against them.  Sansa panted, “There’s no room for her in our bed.”  She watched him nod and groan his agreement before she insisted breathlessly, “I’m going to get rid of her, Petyr.”  

He was punch-drunk in a love haze as he enjoyed his wife’s body, and didn’t see it coming when she brought their discussion back into focus.  He was the one feeling sideswiped now.  He had explained to her why she couldn’t go after Margaery, why they needed to wait.  And here she was, minutes from orgasm, still talking about Margaery.  And still determined, not seeing his side.  He shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows, moving inside her as he breathed, “No, we can’t.”  

Sansa tensed as she thought, _Even now, after everything we’ve worked through.  All that talking.  And he still won’t agree with me!  Is he really fucking me right now?  Or just fucking me over?_  Anger flared inside of her and she suddenly couldn’t stand being under him.  She pulled his hand from her and squirmed away, breaking free.  She grabbed the waistband from around her knees and pulled her pants all the way up over her hips as she watched him stand in shock, still hard as a rock and glistening.  

“Sansa, what the fuck?!”  Petyr exclaimed.  

“We need to be on the same page.”  Sansa crossed her arms, determined to find resolution.  She hated how their disagreeing made her feel and explained, “We aren’t going to solve this problem with sex.”

Desperate to reconnect with her, he resisted, “We could try.”  He watched her scoff and walk further away from him.  He found himself begging, “You’re not going to leave me like this, are you?”  

Sansa glared at him.  She had been trying to prove a point, and then he changed the game, started making love to her.  It was like slapping a bandaid over a gaping wound.  Sansa had fallen into the feeling originally, but knew now that sex would not staunch this injury.  She rolled her eyes at the grown man who had lived with erections all his life, and decided that he would survive this one.  She ignored his question and reiterated, “I want the woman dead and you won’t commit to it.”  

Petyr felt himself boil in rage.  This had gone beyond ridiculous now.  They were in the middle of fucking, reconnecting with one another.  She pulled away from him, from _them_ , stopping everything, over who?  Margaery- _fucking_ -Tyrell.  He growled at his wife, “You need to get over this petty jealousy.”  

Sansa couldn’t contain the laugh that lept out of her, “I love that it’s _you_ of all people that’s saying this.”  

“I never deny or reject you when I’m jealous,” Petyr was quick to shoot back as he pulled his pants up, in disappointment.  

She hated that he had a point.  But she knew that she had one too.  Petyr would either break or kill anyone he viewed as opposition, except for Margaery.  Sansa had never had sex matter before Petyr, never had it build into something intimate, a _relationship, a marriage._  Once she had, she wanted it protected at all costs.  Sansa tried her best to explain, “We killed the Hound.  Other than him, have you had to see or talk to a man that I’ve fucked?”  

At that, Petyr turned to face her, giving her his full attention.  He knew that she had been with other men, but it wasn’t discussed.  Petyr offered her no response, trying to remain neutral.  He knew how important it was to stay calm, not allow himself to rile.  It was too soon and too  dangerous to kill Margaery and nothing Sansa said would change that.  

Sansa drove the point home, “Better yet, what about the man I lost my virginity to?”  She watched Petyr’s eyebrows raise and she poked at him further, “He’s still around, you know.”  

“You’ve seen him?!”  Petyr exclaimed, incredulous.  

“From time to time.  I told you, he’s around.”  She shrugged nonchalantly.  Before Petyr, Sansa would see Harrold Hardyng occasionally for coffee if he was in town.  She had dumped the man in high school, not blacklisted him from ever seeing her again.  After Petyr, the coffee stopped and she only occasionally saw the man in passing at Highgarden, as they both waited in line for their caffeine fix, too busy to grab a table together.  But she let the idea that she saw her ex more than once in a blue moon drive Petyr crazy as she continued, “I’ll never forget the first man to take me.  Back when I was so tender and new…”  

“ _Sansa_.”  He growled in warning.  

She smiled triumphantly, knowing she was getting under his skin.  “He was the first to touch and taste me, to open and _stretch_ me…”

“Who is he?  I’ll fucking kill him!”  Petyr felt all the muscles in his body flex as he thought of murdering a man he had never met.  A man who had _tasted_ his wife.  A man who had listened to her sounds.  A man who had been the first to explore her body.  In two strides, he was at his dresser, rummaging through the top drawer.  He pulled out the gun he kept there and cocked it.

Unfazed by the weapon in his hand, primed and ready, Sansa shook her head at him, “No you won’t, because you don’t know who he is.   _I spared you that!_ ”  She crossed her arms over her chest, “But I have not been spared Margaery.”

Was she actually pissed at him now because she knew about Margaery?  Earlier she had been upset that he didn’t tell her things.  He could not keep up.  At this rate he wasn’t sure he wanted to.  Petyr fumed, ready to break something, anything.  He would have shot the throw pillows that had fallen on the floor by the side of the bed if he thought it would help.  But he knew it wouldn’t.  

She had stirred this feeling in him on purpose and he would need to force himself to stay rational in order to calm it.  He reminded himself that there was no silencer on his gun and didn’t want the unrestrained sound of firing it to deafen the baby in the womb.  He decocked the gun and put it back in his dresser carefully, vibrating in anger the whole time.  His knuckles cracked as his fists clenched, unable to find a suitable outlet for his fury.

Only Sansa could render him so useless, so drunk on emotion.  She turned towards her closet and opened the door, pulling down clothes as she spoke, “It’s not that you fucked her, once upon a time.  It’s that I have to look at her and know.  However good or bad it was.  It’s that she is looking at me, and _loving it._  And you won’t lift a fucking finger to stop her, or support me while I do.  It’s an insult that she is still walking around.”  

“I told you that I would help you, that you could.  I don’t care about her.  Just not yet, not now.”  Petyr insisted through his scowl.  He watched her carry an arm full of clothes out of her closet, wondering what she was doing as she tossed them haphazardly into a duffle bag from under their bed.  “What are you doing?”  

“Leaving,”  Sansa left her answer quick and simple.  He never explained anything to her, why should she bother explaining what she was doing to him?  

 _Leaving?_ Petyr felt his heart speed up, as he shook his head, “No.”  

Sansa needed to get out of there, clear her head.  She just wanted to stay at a hotel for the night to get away from all the troubles of home.  She and the baby were enough for her to handle, she didn’t need to juggle his emotional responses too.  Leaving the situation for a little bit would give her the opportunity to calm herself and regroup her thoughts.  She pulled the bag’s strap over her shoulder, and started for the door.  Petyr moved in front of her and she sighed, “Move.”  

Panic set in him and he shook his head again, “No, you can’t go.”  He couldn’t let her leave.  She was his whole world.  If she left, she took both his wife and child with her.       

She laughed at the way he tried to set a limit with her, “Get out of my way.”  

She laughed at him.  Was she that heartless to his pleading?  Petyr thought fast, and remembered the night of Renly’s assassination.  She viewed him as pathetically sulking over Lancel, and only respected him more when he was stronger.  She would listen to him if he was more willing to flex his power and influence. _Littlefinger, she needs me to be the boss_ , he thought to himself before saying, “No.  You are not leaving.  I will not allow it.”

“I can do whatever the fuck I please,” she shot back quickly.  Who did he think he was, telling her what she could and couldn’t do?  

He lowered his head and looked at her from under his brows as he deepened his voice and stood in front of the door.  “No, you can’t.  Not with my child inside of you.”  He paused only momentarily before he drove the message home, choosing his words carefully to affect her the most, “You will not take _her_ from me.”  

 _Her?_  Sansa’s eyes widened in surprise and then she was overcome with rage.  This was wrong.  This was not special, it was not how she was supposed to find out.  How dare he tell her this way.  Petyr didn’t utter this in a passionate exclamation; this was not a mistake.  She reached forward and smacked him across the face.  

Petyr stood motionless, looking back at her, not allowing his face to show his feelings.  If she wanted to deal with a powerful man who offered no vulnerability, he would give her that man.  He would be selfish and care only for himself, willing to wound her to keep her, whatever it took.

She hated him for ruining something so special.  Everything had gotten ugly, but there were still some things off limits.  He was smart enough to know that.  She reached up with her other hand and slapped his other cheek.  He didn’t even flinch.  She felt tears well up in her eyes as she screamed, “Fuck you for that, you piece of shit!”

Petyr accepted his punishment from her and knew that he deserved it.  He also knew that she hadn’t left.  As much as he didn’t want to cross that line, he was thankful for the effect his words had on her.  They kept her there, even if it was just to hate him more.  

They stood in silence, staring back at each other, with nothing but the ticking of the wall clock behind them.  Upwards of six clicks slowly ticked by before either of them allowed their gaze to break for a blink.  Finally, when her feet tired of holding her up, she closed her eyes dismissively and turned for the door.  He moved so fast, she barely saw him as he caught her.   She tried to pull her arms free, but couldn’t.  She looked up at him confused and yelled, “What the fuck, Petyr?!”  

He shook his head, “You aren’t leaving.”  He took a deep breath and let all the power and menace of his work flow through him as he elaborated, “I won’t _let_ you leave me.”

She knew that he had no idea she was trying to leave simply for the night, not forever.  But after seeing how he reacted, she had no intention of clarifying at this point.  She felt irritated at his display of authority and knew just how to upset him, how to dominate him.  Sansa brought her face close to his, as if to kiss him.  She fluttered her eyes and offered a soft mewl, a sound that would tell him that she wanted to feel him.  She watched his eyelids get heavy, and his lips part slightly at the promise of an intimate moment.  His grip on her arms remained, though loosened a little.  She closed her eyes and gently teased and tickled his lips with hers.  

Each time he would start to lean into it, she would pull back, gasping a little.  If she had not had a big pregnant belly she would be rubbing her pelvis against him, but decided to make do with her mouth.  He looked completely ensconced in her attention, his eyes mostly closed, his mouth open, as his breathing deepened in anticipation of her kiss.  She seized her moment and smacked her forehead hard into his, headbutting him violently.  She laughed confidently, “What makes you think you can keep me?”

He growled and lunged forward, smashing his lips into hers, stealing the kiss she never gave him.  As much as she fought, she couldn’t escape, her forearms caught in his clutches.  He was stronger than her, and could keep a hold of her, despite her best efforts at resisting him.  She hated that she was locked in his kiss against her will, and even more, she hated that she started to enjoy it.  Her eyes closed involuntarily and she’d begun to lose herself when he suddenly pulled away.  She blinked at the loss of contact, panting her disappointment.  She had said that sex wouldn’t fix things, but after feeling him so completely overpower her, she couldn’t help but entertain the idea for a moment.  His eyes remained closed as if he was still in the kiss he tore her from, as he answered in a husky whisper, “Because ‘nothing will keep you from me.  It’s only by my side that you belong.’”

He was using her own wedding vows against her.  It was a dirty trick, and he knew it, but didn’t care.  He would fight tooth and nail to keep her, nothing was off limits.  He’d apologize and beg, or command and order.  He’d grab and hold, and use force if he had to.  In the end, it was knowledge and memory that prevailed, his sharpest tools.  He said just what she needed to hear to weaken her resolve.  Her eyes closed and a slight smile tickled across her lips.  He kept his hands around her arms, though loosened his grip, mindful of how hard he had grabbed her a moment ago.  He was cautious when she slowly leaned forward, bringing her head to rest against his forehead.

 _Yes._  It was working.  She was softening to him.  Petyr closed his eyes and nuzzled his face into hers.  When he heard the contentedness in her sigh at the gesture, he quickly moved to the other side to mirror it.  She wasn’t discouraging him, so he continued.  He was like an animal marking her with his scent, letting her know that she was his territory, she couldn’t leave.  He felt her muscles relax and calm, so he let go of her arms and let his hand slide down to hers.  

Sansa knew that he was starting to feel comfortable again, secure in her sounds and movements.  As she felt his palms cover hers, she thread her fingers through his, in acceptance and entrapment.  Her fingers tightened around his and his eyes opened at her sudden show of strength.  Her grin did not contain any sweetness from the seconds prior as she said, “It’s desperate to use our vows against me.”

 _You make me desperate_ , he thought in response, and then decided that there was no use in denying it, “Yes.”

“Two can play that game.” Sansa worked to remember the exact wording, though knew she was off as she recited part of his vows, “you will prove your devotion for me, by tearing down any obstacle between us.’”  Sansa tilted her head, “How does the rest go?”  

Petyr’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration, refusing to reply as she continued, “Oh, yes.  I remember now.  ‘and burying it _beneath our feet._ ’”

Sansa knew that she hit home when she watched his nostrils flare.  She squeezed his hands and said, “She’s become an obstacle between us.”  

“Because you are letting her,” Petyr shot back, as he attempted to pull his hands from hers.  

She wouldn’t let go of him, “She belongs beneath our feet and you know it.”  

“Fuck!”  He had turned his head away from her as he shouted his frustration.  She stood strong, unflinching, as she held him there in an iron grip.  He took a deep breath and then turned to face her, “Yes.  Okay?  Yes.  She needs to go.  I told you I would help you kill her.”  

“Then why won’t you follow through?”  She had a hold of him and she was not letting go until she was ready.  

His lips pursed in annoyance as he seethed, “You know why.  I told you it’s not safe right—”

“I don’t care.”  Sansa cut him off, tired of the same old reason.  

“I do!”  He yelled again.  He leaned in closer, gritting his teeth at her, “I wrapped you in kevlar today, knowing what it would mean if someone found out, because I couldn’t bare the risk of losing you.”  He breathed heavy, “You may not care, but I do.  And I’ll care for the both of us if I have to.  Even if it means pissing you off to keep you safe.  So be it.”  

Sansa felt his passion smack her right in her heart.  For as irrational as she felt herself become over Margaery, Petyr was justified in his concern for his family’s well being.  Whether or not there was a real danger present, and she knew there was, his feelings alone warranted his extreme response.  She loosened her grip on him, freeing his hands.  She realized that if she was allowed to let her emotions run roughshod over her, then he was allowed the same courtesy.

Even though she understood him more, and could see the intensity that churned beneath his reason, she could not let her own needs go unmet.  She had to close the chapter on Margaery, and move on in the story of their lives.  Sansa dropped her duffle bag on the floor and nodded her head, letting him know that she heard him.  

Petyr felt his shoulders relax, thankful to see her finally drop her bag on the floor.  She nudged him back a little, and he acquiesced, finally feeling safe in giving her some breathing room.  Her voice was low, but determined as she said, “I will not welcome my _daughter_ into a world that has that whore in it.”  

His eyes shot up, “What are you saying?”  

“I respect your feelings on the matter.  But you need to respect mine.  We have fourteen weeks before this baby is born.   _Fourteen weeks_ to put that bitch in the ground.”  Sanse couldn’t control the edge in her voice, “I understand your reluctance to support me at this time.  And so I will offer you the opportunity to handle this situation independent of me.”  It killed her to say it, she wanted to grind her highest heels in the woman’s eye sockets and listen to her death wail.  But she told herself that this was marriage, a give and take, compromise.  She needed Margaery to die, and Petyr needed for it not to be his pregnant wife that did it.  She also recognized the satisfaction to be had in having him kill a whore he’d fucked, further proving his devotion to her and their child.  

The timing on this was all wrong, and while she seemed to be offering some give, the conditions were still not ideal.  It was moving too fast, killing a major name was not something to be done in haste.  Renly was easier because he was the least important of the important people.  Even though the Lannisters were displeased with Margaery and would most definitely back the Baelishes against any move made on them by the Tyrells, they would not necessarily support such a bold move on the part of the Baelishes.  They especially wouldn’t after Renly.  

The Lannisters were an old name, secure in their power, but that did not mean they didn’t desire more.  They would not take kindly to others rising so far above them.  It was dangerous and the type of thing that would take years to pull off in order to walk away unscathed.  His mind raced at the possibilities, when he noticed her hand on the doorknob.  “Where are you going?”  

“I am tired, Petyr.  I’m going to bed.”  Sansa glanced at the clock, it was only nine thirty at night, yet it felt so much later.  Emotion had drained her of energy and she thought about how this would have been something that they would normally fuck their way through and fall asleep in each other’s arms afterward.  That wasn’t going to happen this time.  Though she had doubted for a moment, she knew that sex wouldn’t fix this, and she found herself craving the space he had given her earlier.  

He gestured to their bed behind her, “You’re going the wrong way.”  

She shook her head, “I don’t want to sleep in here.  I have no interest in laying in this room, remembering all the ugly things we’ve said and done tonight.  I’m going to Bran’s room.”  

Petyr hung his head in defeat.  Now she wouldn’t sleep with him.  To add insult to injury, she chose to sleep in the room her brother occupied.  The brother that she had lost, because of Margaery-fucking-Tyrell.  Petyr got her message loud and clear.  She was out the door, stepping over the plate of dinner he had set on the floor while he picked the lock to their room, when he asked, “What happens if I don’t kill her before the baby is born?”  

She paused mid-stride, and wouldn’t look back as she answered, “Then I will.  Fresh from delivery and nursing a newborn, I will honor your vow to me and I will be the one to put her in the ground.”

Petyr couldn’t find words as he watched the beautiful fountain of auburn hair walk away from him, again.  Her resolve would not be shaken and he cursed her stubbornness.  Her charging into the Tyrell’s estate, firing bullets with a baby strapped to her back was the last thing he wanted.  Fuck!  

Sansa crawled into the bed, thankful that the maids had changed her brother’s sheets after he left.  She stared at the mostly bare walls, and thought about how strongly the room contrasted his previous ones from childhood.  She had expected the walls to be riddled with posters and concert tickets, and felt a twinge of sadness as she recognized that he had never fully settled into his place here.  She remembered the way he appreciated everything they offered him and realized that he didn’t want to impose any more than he needed to.  That was before that slut slithered into his lap and hissed her lies into his ear, putting him in harm’s way.

Sansa told herself to breathe, that Petyr would take care of his.  Her husband would rise to the occasion for her, he just needed tonight’s argument to motivate him.  She let her hand settle on her baby for comfort when she remembered, _You’re a girl._  She smiled deeply, and let herself drift off into sleep picturing her daughter at various stages of development.

But her sleep was not restful.  She tossed and turned, suffering dreams that distorted her memories from the night.  She felt eyes on her, watching her always, and knew they were Petyr’s.  She did not know if they were her recollection of them from their argument or if they were watching her sleep.  After a little while, she threw the covers back and climbed out of the bed.  Hours had passed and she had not found her slumber.  She sighed in frustration and padded down the hall to her bedroom, hating to admit her need to be with Petyr after she’d so staunchly rejected him.

When she opened the door, she found the room completely empty.  A small panic rose in her chest, and she felt pins and needles prick all over her body.  Where was he?  Had _he_ left?  Where would he possibly go?  She thought of her last words to him and bit back a tear at the thought of him driving over to the Tyrell’s estate without backup or a plan.  Had she pushed him over the edge?  Made him lose his reason?  She knew she had that power over him and terror gripped her as she considered how she had abused it.  

Sansa grabbed her belly and scurried back down the hall, towards the door.  She told herself that she would stop him, catch him just in time.  She was passing through the living room when she noticed an outline sitting on the couch.  She jumped in surprise, and then peered closer at the figure, instantly recognizing it to be Petyr.  She exhaled slowly, gradually calming the loud thudding of her heart as she crept up closer to him.  His head rested back against the couch and his arms laid at either side of him.  He was a light sleeper, and she was not shocked when he started to stir as she neared, regardless of her quiet approach.  

Petyr slowly blinked his eyes open, barely seeing Sansa in front of him before she climbed in his lap and nestled her head against his chest.  This was definitely unexpected, and extremely needed.  He didn’t say a word at first, afraid she would pull away.  

After a moment, he felt her hands pick at the buttons of his shirt, working them open.  She  yanked his cotton undershirt down lower, revealing more of his chest.  Her fingers found the top of his scar and she rubbed a light zigzag over it with her thumb.  She had always liked touching him there, and he had always liked letting her.  He felt her breath on his skin, her voice heavy as she said, “You’ve ruined me.”  

“Have I?”  He let his hand slide over the outside her thigh, securing her gently in his lap, both for their mutual comfort, and for better leverage to hold her in place if she made to move away.  

There was a vulnerability to her voice that he hadn’t heard previously as she whispered into his chest, “I can’t sleep without you any more.”  

He pressed his lips into the top of her head as he admitted, “Then we have ruined each other, because I can’t sleep without you either.”  He ran his hand down her back, feeling the silky smooth streams of red that he’d been eyeing all day.  

Sansa confessed, “I thought you left.  Ran off half-cocked, after Margaery, because I pushed you too far.”  

He had thought about it, but knew better, and had fought the urge.  He kept his voice low and smooth as he answered, “That doesn’t sound like me.”  He then decided to try a touch of humor, to see how she would take it, “Besides, I can’t go anywhere, remember?  You shot my car.”  

Sansa offered him a soft laugh as she answered, “You have others.”  

He smiled at her lack of apology for it.  That was his wife, and he would expect nothing less from her.  He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her in his arms, and vowed, “I will take care of Margaery.”  

“I know,” Sansa closed her eyes, finally feeling certain that he would.  

His hand released his grip on her thigh and moved to her belly.  He pushed his hand in gently, searching for the hardness of the child within as he said, “Before our daughter takes her first breath, the Tyrell will breathe her last.  I promise you.  I will have a plan.”  

Sansa pressed a kiss into his scar, feeling the strength in his resolve.  She cooed her encouragement into him, “You always come through, always provide.”  

He brought his hand away from her belly, and took a firmer grip of her thigh.  He pulled her closer to him, his voice thick as he spoke into the top of her head, “Because you are mine, and you’ll never not be.  No matter what I have to do.”

Sansa sighed happily, not realizing that she’d held her breath as he spoke to her.  She inhaled the familiar smell of his cologne and she pressed her cheek against the bare skin of his chest, needing to feel as close to him as she could.  Her baby fluttered in her stomach as she silently responded to him in her thoughts, _We belong to each other._  


	30. The Game Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regardless of how it all came about, one thing was certain: the world would be short a Tyrell in due time.

Sansa ignored yet another message from Varys as she peered through the windshield at the office building Jon pulled up to.  She read the numbers nailed by the door, and compared them against the address that Petyr had texted her.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jon’s hands moving and she turned her head to read him.  She smiled and nodded when she realized he was asking if Varys was nagging her about the nursery again.  It was becoming a point of contention that Sansa had not yet picked a theme for it.  Varys needed guidelines to follow as he slowly edged his way into decorating it.

The bald man meant well, wanting to serve the next generation of Baelishes with the same thorough attention to detail that he did the first.  Add to that, the pleasure Varys took in interior design, and it made sense that he would want to spearhead this endeavor.  However, Sansa couldn’t help but feel as though it was not his place in this particular instance.  A trickle of self-loathing seeped in whenever she noticed that another day had passed and she hadn’t given the subject much thought.  She was sure that most women were planning nurseries from the moment they found out the gender, if not earlier.  Pressure piled on top of guilt as she realized that she had not yet given birth and already she was a horribly neglectful mother for not being remotely interested in coordinating burp cloths with curtains to match bed skirts and rocking chairs.  

Not allowing the feeling to harden and set, Sansa would dive into The Adventures of Elenei and read to her baby, feeling the warmth of her long passed mother’s approval in that parental act at least.  Other times, she would talk with Petyr about the baby, and guess what type of child they thought she might be based on how active she was each day.  The subject of their daughter was one that neither of them tired of and it was nice to share it with him.  He was very attractive as a proud father.  

Sansa was in her third trimester now and the baby was developing at the speed of light.  At twenty eight weeks pregnant, she was the size of a squash, and able to open her eyes to blink.  The likelihood that a baby would survive preterm labor at twenty-eight weeks was considered good, and Sansa often times told herself to remember that whenever she grew anxious over her baby’s health.  She would have admonished herself for still being so worried, if she hadn’t caught Petyr looking up similar statistics on days that the baby was less active as well.  Dr. Luwin told her that babies have growth spurts just as children do, and that some days they need to sleep more to accommodate the exhaustion of rapid development.

Jon opened his door to get out, though Sansa caught his arm to stop him.  When he turned to look at her, she smiled and shook her head at him, “You don’t have to come in.  Go be with Ygritte.  Petyr will bring me home.”  

Her loyal cousin blinked back at her, asking if she was serious.  It was not his day off, nor was it a holiday, therefore there was no cause for her to allow him such leave.  Sansa nodded, “Yes, Jon.  Go.  I’m allowed to be nice to my cousin every now and then.”  

Jon smiled sheepishly, and signed his appreciation to her.  She reached over and ruffled his hair playfully taking pleasure in the way he swatted her away.  When she pulled her hand back, she sniffed it and laughed, “Ugh, that stuff is strong.  Ygritte must really like pina coladas.”  

He scowled at her and flipped her the bird before he cracked a grin and told her that he would watch her enter the building before he drove away, as an extra precaution.  Sansa smiled back at him as she got out of her car, appreciating his sense of duty concerning her personal safety and protection.  When she got to the door, she gave the handle a good tug, and waved back at Jon before stepping inside.  

The front desk was empty, as was the whole of the inside on the first floor.  Every other fluorescent light was turned on, no doubt in an effort to save energy, giving a shadowy look to the place.  If it wasn’t Petyr that she was meeting, she may have turned around and left, noting the potential risks involved in entering a place like this unguarded.  She felt her phone buzz with a text message from her sister, _They got me gifts._

 _Who?_  Sansa typed back as she took some steps forward, looking for some stairs or an elevator.  Petyr had told her to meet him on the second floor, and she hoped for an elevator instead of facing a flight of stairs.  Her heels only felt more hellish as time went on and she was seriously considering the possibility of flats, much to her chagrin.   

Her phone vibrated in her hand, _Gen._  After a pause another message came through, _ & Bronn. _

Of course.  Sansa sighed at her sister’s continued dalliances with both men.  She typed back, _What did they get you?  And why?_

Sansa read a sign hanging from the ceiling that directed patrons towards the elevators.  Her feet squeezed tight in her shoes with each step as she cursed her own vanity.  She smirked, remembering Petyr rubbing her feet and telling her she looked her best when she was barefoot and bent over for him.  That was a view he’d just had the pleasure of a few days ago.  Lost in the memory, she didn’t notice when her phone notified her of Arya’s response, though when she looked down coincidentally, she read, _Bronn got me a shotgun bc he saw it & thought of me.    _ Half a second later, another message read, _Gen got me new frame sliders for my bike, bc the shotgun._

Sansa shook her head and typed, _Are you using one man to make the other jealous?_

 _Bronn don’t give a fuck about Gen--does his own thing.  Gen does whatever too.  I keep them for cock, thats it.  So fuck you very much for asking._  Arya was quick and defensive.

Sighing as she read the message, Sansa knew she’d offended her little sister with a need solely her own to understand Arya’s lifestyle choice.  She hastily typed back, _Sorry, I’m a bitch._

She had just pressed the elevator button when she felt Arya’s response, _Twat more like._

Sansa shuddered and typed back, _Ugh. You know I hate that word._

The doors opened and Sansa took a step inside as she felt an expected vibration.  Arya’s response was a bunch of emojis—mostly smiley faces with their tongues sticking out as well as something that looked strangely like a hairy vagina.  Sansa typed, _Eww, what is that?_

 _Tofu, but it looks like TWAT, doesn’t it?_ Arya’s reply was almost instantaneous.  

Sansa felt the elevator come to a stop and watched the doors open slowly.  She took one step out, looking to either side of her.  The second floor appeared much like the first: barren with half the lighting it was wired to have.  She paused outside of the elevator and decided to redirect the conversation, _Is there a reason why you are texting me to gloat about gifts? :-P_

There was a stale smell to the air, indicating just how long this place had been abandoned.  Jon drove, so she hadn’t been paying attention to how they got there, but she felt like she knew this place.  At least the outside of it anyway.  The inside was pretty generic and plain, nothing that would stand out in her memory.  Sansa stopped looking at the muted office colors to glance down at Arya’s response, _bc it reminded me, your baby shower!  What do you need/want?_

Sansa had no idea, and felt beyond guilty about it.  She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, feeling caught; spotlight zeroed in on her already shitty-parenting skills.  Her fingers quickly clicked out of her conversation and into her contact list.  For a moment, her thumb hovered over Varys’ name.  He would know.  He made it his business to know.  

In a completely impulsive gesture, Sansa swiped her screen from top-down, going from V to C.  For a split second her thumb hovered above Cersei’s name before she dropped it and opened up a message.  She read her last message from the Lannister, _4 designer purses says that waiter is sporting a boner for you.  Stand up and ruin it with a belly only a husband could love._

Sansa snickered at it again.  Cersei was great for repeat reads.  Varys would have been the perfect person to message for this, but Cersei was who she needed right then.  Sansa typed in, _My baby shower is coming up.  What do I need?_

She sent the message and looked around her trying to pick a direction.  It was an office building, surely the layout would be pretty straight-forward?  Sansa veered left because she was right handed and smiled at her own broken logic in choosing a way.  Her phone lit up in her hand and she picked it up to read, _Fuck toys._

Sansa rolled her eyes, typing, _Ha-ha.  Seriously, what do I need?_

All of a sudden a gif of a penis entering a vagina flashed on her phone and Sansa chuckled out loud before typing, _Fine.  Nevermind.  Whore._

She walked further down the hall, peering her head into empty offices along the way.  Her phone vibrated a response, _I was serious.  Sex is important for moms.  TRUST ME ON THIS._

There was another message just below it, _Just go to your local baby store--it’s usually painted pastel.  Sit in one of their rocking chairs while one of the attendants scans things with the price gun._

The smile that spread across Sansa’s face could have easily split it in two.  Cersei didn’t bother herself with what others thought of her parenting style.  Or if she did, it was an intermittent concern at most.  Cersei was Cersei, and lived life how she wanted, fuck anyone else and their opinions.  Either she lacked a perfect Varys in her life, or she had gotten rid of his equivalent years ago, because she didn’t worry about any of the things he bothered Sansa with.  Her phone vibrated again with another Cersei response, _They will probably give you some non-alcoholic Mimosa (it’s just OJ, fucking idiotic--I know) so pack your champagne in a diaper bag prior._  

Another message lit up her screen, _On second thought, don’t do that.  If you’re going to sneak booze, go for something worth it.  Champagne is such a waste.  Go for Vodka--make yourself a screwdriver while the nice sales clerks take care of everything._

Sansa bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud at her friend as she typed back, _You are perfect._

She then opened up her message to Arya and typed, _I have no idea._  She cringed immediately after sending it, expecting her moment of honesty to cost her some respect as a mother to be.  

Within seconds she received responses from both of them.  She read Cersei’s first, _Clearly._  Sansa smiled at her friend’s not so humble nature and then opened up Arya’s message to read, _Fair.  Going with my gut then.  Consider yourself lucky, Sis.  I give great shit._

Turning the corner, Sansa picked her head up from her phone to see a large empty room ahead of her, lined along the sides with folded up cubicle partitions and a couple of desks.  She was about to turn around when she saw Petyr standing alone to the far side, back turned to her as his looked out the window to the street below.  His hands were in his pockets and she felt herself tense a little at the mannerism he tended to display when he was nervous or uncomfortable.  Her eyes scanned him up and down, assessing his body language to determine just how ruffled he may be.  She was pleased to note that neither his head or foot was turned off to the side as he stood, known uneasy gestures of his.  

She slid her shoes off, holding them as she silently tiptoed further into the large office space.  About three steps in, his voice almost jumped her, “How are your feet?”  

Sansa froze, “There is no possible way that you heard me coming.”  She didn’t bother to ask him how he knew her feet hurt, with it being such a common predicament lately.   

He turned around to face her, giving her the confident smirk she knew so well.  Her legs took on a mind of their own, moving her towards his gravitational pull.  She was pleased to see him taking steps to meet her as well.  His voice was warm and welcoming as he answered, “I always know where you are.”

Sansa slid her hands to his sides as he gripped her upper arms, gently pulling her forward to kiss her forehead.  Content in his embrace, Sansa smiled at him when he looked over her shoulder and asked, “Where’s Jon?”  

“I let him off.”  Sansa answered simply.  

Petyr’s face turned to a slight frown, his eyebrow wrinkling and his hold on her tightened slightly as he said, “I did not bring any men with me.”

Wanting to impede his worry, Sansa leaned forward, her lips hovering above his as she asked, “Are you saying that Petyr Baelish can not protect his wife?”  

She could feel him fume in disapproval against her face, and she continued, “In an empty office building, of all places?”  

At sight of his pursed lips, Sansa pecked at his jaw bone.  His eyes closed as he suffered the effects of her focus, and exhaled quietly and forcefully.  He was trying to calm himself and she thought it was adorable.  Deciding to push him over the edge with her words, she made her voice light and offered an aloof expression as she asked, “Can’t you keep me safe?”  

His eyes snapped open, lit up in fury and a low growl emitted from him, at the suggestion that he was not capable of defending her against any opposition.  His mouth opened to respond but was cut off as she captured his bottom lip in her teeth.  Giving it a healthy bite, she let go once she tasted blood.

Petyr chuckled, surprised by her rough touch, bringing his finger to his wound.  “You!”  He laughed again, and then slid a hand up to support the back of her head as he leaned into her.  His eyes sparkled in excitement, inches from hers as he asked, “Kiss it better?”  

“Uh-huh.”  Sansa gave a slight nod of her head, grazing her nose past his.  She then extended her tongue and ran it over his assaulted lip.  She didn’t particularly care for the taste of blood, but she licked him deliberately to watch the effect it would have.  His eyes fluttered at the feel of her tongue and exhaled a slight groan, hot and moist into her mouth.  

Feeling the start of something, Sansa flexed the muscles between her legs in response to the tingling that occurred as she sucked on his lip.  Petyr’s hold on her head brought her closer and their kiss deeper as his tongue slid past hers.  It was time for Sansa to moan into him, feeling his other hand slide from her hip to as far back as it could reach of her bottom.  In that moment, she cursed her belly for impeding his efforts, wanting nothing more than for him to palm her ass and give it a squeeze.  

The belly that had grown offered a strong kick at Petyr leaning against it’s home.  He chuckled at the sensation, breaking away from her lips.  Though she would have gladly welcomed the  natural progression of their activities, she was just as pleased with his joy in their daughter’s movements.  He brought his hands to her bump, “How are both my girls, today?”  

Sansa held her hands over his, keeping him in place, “I am beaten and she’s training for a fight.”  

“She’s been rough with you, has she?”  He cocked an eyebrow at her and then touched his lip and said, “I wonder where she gets it.”  

Sansa laughed, rolling her eyes at him.  He gripped her hand, indicating that he wanted her to follow him.  She left her shoes in the middle of the floor and walked with him towards the only office chair in the room.   As he offered her the seat, she shook her head and blurted, “No, I’m fine.  But I don’t know what babies need.”  

He sat down and spread his legs open to her, shrugging as he said, “Parents.  She will be fine as long as she has us.”  

A calm washed over her at his words and she allowed herself to be pulled towards him to stand between his knees.  Petyr had a habit of doing this, bringing his face level to the baby as he talked to her about matters he pretended were serious.  Sansa usually had to stifle some giggles, to keep the artificial mood going.  

His right hand set on their baby, while his left hand slid to the back of her thigh, and rest there just barely under the hem of her skirt.  He had a firm hold of her and their daughter, and Sansa couldn’t be happier.  He spoke into her belly, “Now, Princess--”  

“Princess?”  Sansa cut him off, eyeing him suspiciously.

He placed a quick kiss on her bump, before looking up at her amorously, “Are you not my queen?”  

“Queen?”  She barked a laugh in surprise at his choice of words.  

Petyr grinned and nodded, slowly raising the hand on her thigh up higher under her skirt.  Sansa felt her nipples constrict and the blood rush to all her most sensitive areas.  He brought his fingertips to the curve of her ass and teased her, tracing the lacy trim of the garment.  His eyes grew soft and dark as he smiled to one side, “Don’t I worship you as one?”

Sansa moved her hand from his shoulder, up to his face as he looked at her.  Her thumb ran over his cheekbone and his eyes closed as it did.  Her mind flashed to how he revealed their daughter’s gender to her, and how he grabbed her arms, for the first time ever trying to dominate her physically.  She bit back a smirk as she remembered showing him with an unexpected crack of her forehead to his face that force wouldn’t work with her.

It would be disrespectful to their marriage if she allowed the events of one dreadful night to speak so loudly against all the other wonderful ones they shared.  Each night afforded her more love-soaked memories.    

Nuzzled into her neck, one leg tucked to rest between hers as his arms wrapped around her stomach (however large or small), was how he always insisted on sleeping with her.  Each night he would audibly sniff her hair, and press his pelvis into her ass, whether he was hard or not and whisper, “You are everything to me.”  

In the early days of their marriage, Sansa would quietly smile, not knowing how to cope with such adoration.  After a while, she took to responding, “And you make everything better.”  When her pregnancy first started to force her up to pee in the middle of the night, she tried to avoid waking him, sneaking away quietly.  Even in a dead sleep, his arm would clamp down tighter, as he nuzzled into her neck, and slid his leg further between hers, pressing higher into the warmth of her womanhood.  Groaning her name in his sleep laden voice, he gripped possessively, unconsciously.  

She smiled at the devotion he showed, so deep that it hit even unconscious levels.  When she would finally break contact with him, sliding off the edge of the bed, his eyes would snap open as he started to sit up.  When he eventually got used to her new nighttime bathroom habits, he became more willing to remain in a restless half sleep until she returned to the bed.  Though, if she took too long, she could count on him checking on her.

Feeling her dress raise, pulled her attention back to him.  She raised an eyebrow, “What are you doing?”  

“Checking to see which panties you’re wearing.”  Petyr spoke nonchalant as he peered under the hem of her dress.  Then he made a pretend pouty face and said, “You went with the argyle and lace.”

Sansa smiled at him, with a playful touch of defensiveness as she asked, “Is that a problem?”  

“No.”  Petyr shook his head, and then slid his fingers under the trim as he grinned, “I just prefer the sailboats.”  

Sansa shook her head back at him and said, “No, you don’t.”  

“Oh?  I don’t?”  His intrigue lost it’s playfulness as he clearly wanted to know what she read about him.  

Sansa smiled, “The birds are your favorite for everyday.  And the green brazilian lace are your favorite for foreplay.”

Petyr chuckled and then nodded his head, “You know me so well.”  He then leaned forward, resting his cheek against her belly, while his palm gave her bottom a supportive squeeze.  

She dropped her hand to his head and ran her fingers through his hair.  He hummed into the intimate touch, stopping only when she spoke, “You do--treat me like a queen.  By the way.”

Though he remained silent, she could feel his cheek raise into a smile.  The hand he held on her belly, started to rub slow circles and he found his voice again, “If you are my queen, then she is my princess.”  

It sounded reasonable to Sansa, though she dreaded the thought of a spoiled child.  Feeling Petyr so ensconced in her, reminded her that it was hard not to be spoiled by him.  It came with his love and devotion, a non-negotiable part of the bargain.  She could tell that he was pausing for her approval before he continued, so she agreed with him, “It makes sense.”  

He then addressed their daughter, “Now, Princess, you need to be nice to your mother.  It’s best to be on her good side.  She’s not one to cross.”  He finished speaking to the baby, punctuating his words with a kiss to Sansa’s belly.  

She rolled her eyes at him, her cheeks naturally dimpling in pleasure at his affection.  Looking at the empty office space around them, Sansa finally asked, “What are we doing here, Petyr?  What is this place?”  

He slowly rose from the chair as he smiled, “Ours.  It’s our new head office.”  

“Head office?”  Sansa met his eye, “You work in all of our locations.  You _prefer_ The Mockingbird.  But you work everywhere.”  

Petyr bit his lip before answering, “I want to rip these panties off you when you talk like that.”  

“Like what?”  Sansa asked, surprised by how random his words felt.  

He sighed happily, “When you let me know how much you know about me.”  

“Oh.”  Sansa smiled proudly, “Well I do pay attention.”  

“And it makes me want to fuck you senseless.”  He gave her a look of thirst and then visibly shook himself out of it to lean forward and place a gentle kiss to her lips.  When he pulled away, his voice lowered, “Things have changed for us.  We are doing quite well.”  

“Are we?”  Sansa knew that business had been running smoothly, that they were always turning a profit.  Though, somehow, she got the feeling from their surroundings that there was something additional going on.  Petyr only ever kept secrets when he wanted to surprise her and she was growing eager to be wowed.

“Yes.”  Petyr leaned in and kissed her again, seeming almost unable to stop himself.  “These past two weeks have not been unproductive.  I have been working, you know.”  

There it was: the unspoken topic of their argument.  It had occurred two weeks prior and neither party had recognized the subject of it since.  He had promised her that he would handle things, and she had given him a deadline.  That was the end of it, no need for discussion.  He was not sharing this thoughts and she wasn’t demanding progress reports.  She believed he would deliver, and if her faith faltered, she knew that she would make good on her promise.  Regardless of how it all came about, one thing was certain: the world would be short a Tyrell in due time.

It was Sansa that leaned forward this time, pecking his lips as she said, “I figured.”  

The feeling of his lips spreading into a grin against hers, sent a warmth through her that authenticated their love.  Overcome with the feel of it, and him, she almost didn’t hear him when he said, “Come.”  It wasn’t until she felt him tugging her arm to follow him, that she came to.  

“Where?”  

He smiled back at her as he pulled her behind him, “My new office.”  

She laughed, following him.  Petyr wasn’t one to care too much about an office space, only the privacy it provided them in their more spontaneous moments.  As she trailed behind him, she looked around her again, “You never told me how we were doing better.”  Glancing down at the dated carpet, she added, “Or why you picked this building.”  

“Location.”  Petyr didn’t look back at her as he answered, pulling the door ahead of him open.  

The office appeared pretty run of the mill, boring even.  The blinds were shut, leaving it dark and gloomy looking.  There was an older desk and chair there as well as a couch that was at least ten years old.  Sansa considered the funny coincidence of this office, one he clearly hadn’t spent much time in, having a couch, just as all of his other offices did.  She watched him reach for the blinds as she asked, “Location?”  

Petyr nodded, not offering a response to her question as he asked one of his own, “Do you know why this office is the best office I’ve ever had?”

Sansa looked around again, feeling completely uncertain why this office run-down and abandoned office, of all offices, would be his favorite.  She shrugged her uncertainty at him.  He smiled and said, “The view.”  

Slowly, the blinds turned and retreated from the window, allowing her Petyr’s prized sight: an art gallery.   _Her_ art gallery.  She took a step forward, looking at the all-glass storefront and the sign that read, _Stark Naked Art Gallery_ above it.  The sun reflected off the glass and made it hard for her to see anything other than the outside of the building.  

His hands slid around her stomach and his chin rested on her shoulder before she felt him bring himself flush against her in their embrace.  His words were warm in her ear, “On a cloudy day, I can see right inside.”  He gave her neck a soft kiss before adding, “And you can see right inside this office from the gallery.  I made sure.”  

She chuckled at the idea of the two of them working in their own separate spaces, watching the other.  Tilting her head to rest against his for a moment, she teased him, “If that is the case, then I had better not see these blinds closed.  Ever.”  

“Never.”  Petyr sighed happily over her shoulder.  

He held her there for a moment as she watched the cars go by.  She couldn’t believe that she didn’t know what this building was.  In fairness, the entrance was on the other side, on a different street.  The city was so large and chaotic, it was easy for her to not notice the things not in front of her.  But Petyr had; he noticed everything.

Not wanting to break the peace they were sharing, but needing an answer to something that had been picking at her all day, she asked, “How did he do?”  

Petyr’s sigh was not a happy one.  Though, it was also, not an unhappy one, either.  “He did very well.  A bit nervous.  But that’s to be expected.”

Rickon.  They were referring to Rickon.  The Baelishes had sat on the issue long enough and it was time to collect on the favor he owed them.  Sansa felt some hesitation in her husband, so she pushed it, “We waited this long to make sure that no one was looking.  And you said that there were backups to employ if necessary, making the risk was minimal.”  

“It was.”  Petyr was quick to reply, letting go of her, only to sit on the couch.  His palms came up as he gestured calmly, “The boy is still young and this is the first time a favor has been called in.  It is natural to be nervous.”  

Sansa thought of her baby brother sweating buckets as he broke the law to protect her other baby brother.  “But he did well?”

“Yes.”  He motioned for her to come sit with him, and offered a hopeful expression.  

She walked over and sat down, turning to recline back against him.  It was a position so automatic to them now during her pregnancy, that she gave it little thought.  His voice sounded into the top of her head, “He has a place at the table whenever he’s ready.”  

“Of course he has a place.  He is family.”  Sansa almost rolled her eyes as she felt Petyr reach down to lift her dress up over her belly, exposing her flesh to the open air.  As she rifled through her purse for her lotion, she shared her hesitation, “What if I am not ready?”

Petyr squirted the lotion into the palm of his hand as he answered, “We didn’t include Bran.”  

They hadn’t.  They had kept him in the dark and he was left vulnerable from it.  So much more could have happened to him that he was lucky to only have been arrested.  It was thanks to Tarly that Bran wasn’t charged.  Though his fingerprints had made it into the system, needing to be cleared.  After some weeks had passed and the beat cops that arrested Bran had long since forgotten that they had picked up a supposedly deaf Stark, Petyr had deemed it safe to reach into the police database to wipe them.  Who better than a computer genius like Rickon?  He had been warned that he would be in debt, if for no other reason than to demonstrate to him the full weight of asking people like Petyr and Sansa for favors.  As Rickon grew into a man, he would need to understand that Petyr and Sansa were more than just his sister and brother in law.

Sansa sighed as she felt his hand rub the lotion over her.  “Bran was staying with us.  In the life.  Rickon doesn’t have to be.  He’s far enough away.”

His hand offered the perfect amount of pressure to her stomach to both massage it and feel the hard head and bottom of their baby.  “Then what do you choose for him?”  

“I would have him choose for himself.”  Sansa remembered the conversation she had with Arya on her wedding day about how interested the Stark children were or weren’t.  

Petyr’s hand worked small circles over a hard lump that they both recognized to be their daughter’s back as he said, “I respect your wishes above his, always.  If you want him either in or out of things, I will follow your lead.”

A silence passed as he continued to rub and the baby shifted slowly, pushing back lazily as she slept and accepted the backrub in utero.  A thought came to Sansa as she blinked her eyes open and stared at the tacky drop-ceiling above them, “Petyr?”  

“Mm?”  He asked into her hair.  

“How have things changed?  What have you been working on?”  She lifted her head and turned it to look back at him.  

Petyr smiled proudly back at her before placing a kiss on her forehead and gently pulling the hem of her dress back down to cover her.  His words sounded foreign in how unexpected they were, “I have a plan.”  

Two weeks of silence on the subject of Margaery Tyrell, and then as they snuggled in his newly acquired office he suddenly decided to share his work with Sansa.  She gazed ahead at the door as she said, “I’m listening.”  

As he smoothed out her dress, Petyr reasoned, “You want to kill her.  And I want you safe, removed from danger.”  She didn’t respond as this was all established.  He continued, “I could kill her.  But I feel as though you would be less satisfied by that than if you could kill her _through_ someone else.  If it were your words that offered the kill command, however discreet and veiled they were.”  

Sansa laughed, “Who?”

“Who else hates her?”  Petyr answered her question with another question.  

An image of Cersei Lannister being the first ever to say “Margaery-fucking-Tyrell” flashed in Sansa’s memory.  Her response was automatic, “Cersei.”  

“We will get the Lannisters to kill her.  We will not fear their wrath for killing Margaery, if they themselves are responsible.”  Petyr reasoned simply.  

“How?”  Sansa wanted to know how he proposed to make Cersei do something as stupid as kill a head of a family.  How would Jaime stand for it?

Petyr continued to massage the round of her belly.  “What would motivate a _mother_ to murder?”

Sansa’s eyes widened as she realized, “Joffrey.”

Petyr turned and rested his cheek against the top of her head as he hummed, “Mm.  You work her and I’ll work everyone else.”  

“Everyone else?”  Sansa questioned.  

She could feel him shrug above her as he answered, “Jaime, Tyrion, Loras, everyone.  Olyvar.”  

“Olyvar?”  She hadn’t expected that.  

Petyr turned to kiss her head again as he said, “He’s an in.  He can get us close enough to the Tyrells without much notice.”  

“ _Tyrells?_  I thought we were aiming for Margaery.” Sansa noted the change in direction and brought her hand up to his.  

Petyr began to thread his fingers through hers and out again, playing with their joined hands as he said, “I’ve been planning for all eventualities.  For the past two weeks, I’ve been thinking and observing.  Loras and Margaery are inseparable.  The opportunity to end Margaery may only come with Loras there as well.”  

Sansa felt a twinge of regret over the possibility.  She enjoyed Loras: his sense of humor, their brunches, and the carefree way he viewed the world. Their war was with the slutty Tyrell, not the heartbroken one.  She put up some small resistance, “No.  If the Lannisters are going to get their hands dirty instead of us, and they finish _both_ Tyrells, they will run the south as well as the west.”

“They would, yes.”  Petyr acknowledged, his voice was calm and agreeable.  

Acquiescence was the opposite of how Sansa felt right then.  They were currently on top, and she was not interested in losing their place.  “And that’s acceptable to you?”

“No.”  His fingers spun her wedding ring around her finger as he explained, “So I tried to make it so.”  She watched him raise their hands up over her head and to his mouth as he pressed a kiss into the back of her hand.  “I have been rendering most of the Tyrell assets useless.  Should Loras die with Margaery, and the Lannisters take over, they will not be inheriting much.”  

That was how their circumstances were changing for the better.  Sansa was surprised by just how much work her husband had been doing.  Petyr had a talent for appearing relaxed and as if he was not actually doing anything, when in actuality he had been working right along.  He wouldn’t bother telling her until he had something to show her, and she truly didn’t need the play by play.  In truth, she enjoyed what seemed like his full attention to their domestic life on a daily basis only to be amazed each time he showed her all the other things he’d been working on for them.  She listened to him reiterate his point, “If the Lannisters run half the city, our half is greater.”  

“Half of a city is half of a city.”  Sansa let go of his hand and sat up.  “They will be our equals.”  

Petyr leaned forward, turning to her, his hands on her begged her to hear him out.  “In name only.”  

Sansa thought of the Stark Wolf Pack and her preoccupation with names prior to Petyr, “Names carry a lot of weight.”  

“Money carries more.”  His eyebrows furrowed at her, clearly trying to understand her position.  

She took a deep breath, unsure of how to explain how she felt.  “I don’t like this.  I don’t like the prospect of being equal to Cersei.”  

“You already pretend you are in order to maintain relations.”  Petyr pointed out.  And he was right.  The majority of their time together was a show of friendship.  Sansa had formed an attachment to the woman, but she still knew deep down that they ran half the city and the Lannisters only ran a quarter of it.  Cersei, for as much of a boss as she was, radiating ball-busting confidence that knew no limits, was still inferior to Sansa.  

Sansa sighed and changed tactics, “Loras has done nothing to deserve this.  I would prefer he be kept out of it.”  

“As would I.”  Petyr agreed.  

“Bullshit.”  Sansa shook her head and turned away from him as she said, “If you really didn’t want him mixed up in this plan, you wouldn’t be including him in it.  You would have contingencies to avoid it.”  

“Sansa, look at me.”  Petyr plead.  “Why would I want Loras dead?  What would I have to gain?  It is more beneficial to us if he lives.  The Lannisters wouldn’t be able to expand.  And Loras is such a broken husk that he would be easy to control without Margaery’s influence.”  

She turned to face him, “I’m glad we agree.  So let’s leave him alone and focus on the whore that tried to wreck our home.”  

“ _Tried_.”  Petyr’s eyes softened and he set his hand on her thigh, trying to get closer to her as he emphasized, “And failed.”  

Sansa felt the smallest of smiles growing as she looked into the green pools of his eyes, comforted by his words.  She gave him a light kiss and then assured him, “Nothing comes between us.”

His eyes searched hers as he added, “Not even the past.”  

Sansa swallowed as she recognized the hunger in his eyes.  She didn’t respond, not because she didn’t agree, but because she was so captivated by the sudden stir of passion between them.  Petyr leaned forward, his breath hot on her chest as he slid his palm from her thigh up over her belly.  It roamed over her breast, her chest, her neck, and into her hair.  Heat radiated from between her legs at the feel of her husband’s fingers in her scalp, demanding her full attention.  His lips hovered over hers as he whispered, “Say it.”  Kissing her bottom lip gently, his voice thickened as he begged, “ _Please._ ”  

The damp that overwhelmed the cotton of her underwear, unable to absorb it all, signaled an urge to feel more of him, and Sansa had taken to listening to her body’s needs over the past few years.  Her eyelids grew heavy along with her breathing as she nodded her head and whispered back, “Yes.”  

Their kiss deepened, and his hand left her hair to travel back down her neck and over her breast.  Her lips tore from his to moan in pleasure as he gave it a gentle squeeze.  Sansa breathed, “Nothing, not even the past.”  

He grinned in triumph and spoke as he stood up, “I do not want Loras dead.  But I will plan for it because it is likely.”  Standing before her, he wedged his knee in between hers, nudging them apart as he continued, “I do not want the Lannister’s to take over more territory.  But I will plan for it because it is also likely.”  He slowly lowered himself down to his knees in front of her, “I do not like the idea of killing a family member so quickly,” his hand rubbed over her belly as he continued, “at such a very important time for us.”  He gave her belly a quick peck, and then began raising the material of Sansa’s dress.  “But I will because you wish it.”  

Sansa bit her lip, unable to tame the dimples that took over her cheeks at the sensual way with which he spoke to her.  Her heartbeat quickened seeing him bow on his knees to his queen.  He stared forward and licked his lips.  She knew he was looking at the dark wet spot on her argyle print undies and was not surprised, though still titillated, when he drove his face forward and sniffed her musky scent through the cloth.  He exhaled against her thigh, the breath hot and uncontrolled.  Reflexively she raised her hips slightly, pleased with how her body moved for him, considering he had not yet laid a finger on her.  

“Mm, so good.”  Petyr complimented her scent and then turned his head, and placed his mouth over the material, and gently bit as much of her womanhood as he could.  

Sansa threw her head back and groaned in anticipation of his next move.  His hands were hot as they slid up the outsides of her thighs and gripped the band of her underwear, pulling them down as he spoke to her, “And you do not like the idea of someone else killing her for you.”  He was pulling her panties off at a painstakingly slow rate.  They were slipping over her knees and down her calves when he continued, “But you won’t, because I wish it.”  

Once the underwear slipped past her ankles, Petyr threw them behind him and rubbed his hands up her smooth calves.  When he got to her knees he pushed them further apart, spreading her womanhood open to him.  He purred, “So beautiful.”  

Her chest puffed in pride, truly enjoying being on display for someone as worthy as him.  He looked back up at her, licking his lips again before asking, “Will you tell me how you’d do it?”  

“What?”  Sansa didn’t understand what he was asking, only that he wasn’t doing what she needed him to in that instant.  

His hands massaged up over her thighs, and he allowed one to slide between her legs, pressing his fingers over her lips to give pressure to the nub hidden inside.  His voice was deep and pleading as he explained, “I want you to tell me all the ways that you’d kill Margaery if you could, while I make you come.”  

Her eyes widened, astonished that he would suggest such a thing.  And then they dilated in carnal desire as she readily admitted, “I would beat her to death with a crowbar.”

“Mm, yes.”  Petyr breathed his approval before he leaned forward and ran his tongue along her seam.  

His head disappeared below her belly, but she could feel him there, teasing the outside of her.  He breathed into her, “Tell me more.”  

She cursed him for not diving in between her folds like she wanted him to.  “I would throw acid on her face and then slit her throat when I tired of her cry.”  

He smiled against her skin and praised her, “Yes.  That’s my wonderful wife.”  He pressed his tongue harder into her and she shivered at the feel of him licking the sensitive skin inside her folds.  He was just beneath her nub and she wanted to shift her hips to force him to stroke it for her.  But she didn’t, enjoying the way his tongue taunted her.  His voice was deep as he broke from her to quickly direct, “More.”

Sansa thought of how else she would end the slut, “I would tie her to a chair and duct tape her mouth shut.”  His tongue traveled higher and her voice raised in response, “I would make her watch us fuck in front of her.”  

Her thoughts shifted to the memory of Petyr eating her out on a contractor table as she watched The Hound writhe and die in the background.  It was such a perfect night that she wouldn’t mind reliving it.  She felt him moan and nod affirmatively into her as he grazed her nub.  Her hips bucked and she let out a cry of bliss.  His fingers dug into her thighs, keeping her in place as he traced along the edges of her clit.  Sansa barely understood her own words as she added, “Then I would duct tape--oh god!”  She exclaimed as he licked past a gratifying nerve designed only for delight.  She took a breath, “her nose shu-u-ut.  Oh, my, oh.  Yes.  Yes, fuck! _Petyr._ ”  

He was relentless in the circles he twirled, the back and forth scribbles he drew, and the alphabet he scrawled across her engorged and tender flesh.  She felt every muscle in her body flex as he brought her close to the edge and then suspended her there.  Frustration coursed through her as her legs began to shake in stress at the state of her.  Her hands reached below her belly, feeling for the head she could no longer see, and grabbed handfuls of hair, tilting herself into him.  Everything was white noise as she exploded on the tip of his tongue.  She panted uncontrollably, each muscle spasming independently and in unison, completely useless to do anything but surrender to the sensation.  

After her breathing slowed, she felt felt him pull away, and the cool air hit her, wet and well-worn.  He rose to face her, his lips and chin glistening as he grinned, “I’m surprised you wouldn’t shoot her in the heart and head.”  

“I hadn’t gotten there yet.”  Sansa smiled, as she reached for his face.  Her thumb smeared the natural lubrication in his facial hair, “You got me somewhere else instead.”  

“Mm, I did.”  He pulled her hand away and glanced at her shimmering thumb before wrapping his lips around it and sucking off the taste of her.

Sansa’s eyes closed in pleasure.  When he released the digit, he asked, “So, you approve of my plan?”  

Her eyes opened slowly and she huffed, “I understand it.”  She trailed her hands down the front of him to cup his erection as she added, “And I will support it.”  

Petyr smiled as he pushed himself further into her hand and closed his eyes as he spoke, “Thank you.”  

Sansa nodded happily and reached for his belt, starting to unfasten it when he added, “So you won’t be upset that Varys extended an invite for the baby shower to Margaery.”

It was presented as a statement but Sansa knew it was a question.  She hated the idea of that whore at her baby shower, but she knew that it was political, not personal.  A baby shower for someone of their standing would be large and require invitations to family members, whether they be friend or foe.  They were not small town nobodies who could get away with only having immediate family and friends present.  She pulled at his buckle as she sighed, “Fine, Petyr.  On one condition.”  

He cocked his eyebrow at her, “And that is?”  

“When you _fuck me_ ,” She watched his eyes dilate in excitement as she continued, “in your brand new office,” each tooth in his fly popped as she slowly unzipped it, “you tell me how _you’d_ kill that cunt.”  

Possessive hands gripped the waistband, pulling his pants lower as Petyr groaned at the feel of his cock hitting the open air, “Deal.”  

 


	31. Let the Men Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is a mob, if not a family?”

_ She stood bravely staring back at the god and goddess that created her and declared her desire for freedom and independence.  Her father’s anger churned the sea and her mother’s bluster showed her discontent.  But Elenei refused to relent.  She would not allow the expectations of tradition to keep her from exploring the world around her any longer.  Life was out there and Elenei was going to live it.     _

Sansa’s icon suddenly popped up above the ebook Petyr was reading.  It was the same one that had been passed down to Sansa.  She was always reading it and Petyr found himself wanting to experience it as well, and learn what was being read to their daughter.  So, in his offtime, he read the copy he downloaded, sometimes a chapter at a time and sometimes merely a paragraph here and there.  

The car pulled to a stop and Petyr popped a mint in his mouth before clicking on the box that held a zoomed in picture of his wife’s ringed finger resting on her baby bump.  He liked changing the picture from one location of her body to the other every so often.  He read her message,  _ How much longer will you be?  And do you need your full attention for it or can I steal some? _

Sansa always commanded his thoughts.  Nothing else would ever receive his undivided attention again and meeting with the Lannisters would not take long.  It was lunch which was outside of their typical code.  That meant that this was not real estate, drugs, firearms, or any other black market goods.  They wanted to meet to discuss something else entirely.  Petyr could already guess what and had naturally prepared for it.  He typed back,  _ Hour—tops.  And you know I can multitask.  Why? _

The driver held the door open for him and as the door shut behind him, Petyr felt her response in the palm of his hand,  _ I want you. _

His heart jumped in excitement over the way those three little words could derail any thought process.  He reread the words at least four times before he texted back,  _ Where are you? _

Varys stood on the sidewalk waiting for Petyr to join him, “They are already inside.”  Petyr nodded his head and glanced down at his lit up phone.  It displayed a selfie of Sansa smiling back at him in a vehicle he didn’t recognize.  Below the picture she wrote,  _ Guess. _

His eyebrows furrowed, in annoyance.  He had already been guessing from the very second the picture loaded.  She was in a vehicle that did not belong to either of them.  Her smile was pulled to the left, abating any worry he may have that she was in an unsafe place.  That smile was reserved for when she toyed with him.  He stared at the small amount of car interior that surrounded her and mentally catalogued the inside of all their close family members vehicles: not Jon’s, or Bran’s discarded WRX, and Arya didn’t own a car, just a bike.  Petyr glanced to Varys as the bald man held the door open for him and cursed that it obviously wasn’t Varys’s car either.  He would have felt assured of her safety with any one of them, but was forced to trust her smile.  

The smell of meat searing against the hot metal grill filled Petyr’s nostrils as he scanned the Japanese steak house for the Lannisters, unsure of how many would be present.  This was a men’s only meeting, as was typical with Jaime.  Petyr always thought that it was amusing that he insisted on doing business “just the guys” when everyone knew that he discussed business with Cersei behind closed doors anyway.  

It suddenly struck him that Sansa may be with Cersei.   As his wife’s pregnancy continued, and her body became more and more visibly fragile, Petyr hated the idea of her spending too much time with her  _ friend _ .  Cersei was always a loose canon, and much like her husband, never one to get too comfortable around because of it.  However, there was an added air of unease that Petyr felt about the Lannister’s presence that came with the knowledge that they would be manipulating her, and should Cersei ever find out, there would be hell to pay.  He quickly texted back,  _ Who are you with?   _

Varys nodded his head toward Jaime and Tyrion sitting off in a corner booth.  Petyr touched his hand to the beretta he kept concealed, confirming its existence.  Corner booths were great for getting killed in.  The Lannisters hadn’t spotted him yet when he read her response,  _ No one.  I’m all alone, and extremely horny. _

_ How horny?   _ Petyr’s fingers sent his question before he could think about the possible dangers of her being alone.  He was walking with Varys towards the booth typing in some mild chiding at her being so unguarded when a picture loaded in the message window.  Sansa’s hard nipple peeked out above the demi cup of her bra.  He almost walked into a chair, staring down at the image, in rapt attention.  Varys glanced up, raising an eye.  Petyr shook his head dismissively at him.

“Baelish!”  He was spotted.  Jaime called to him across the bustle of the restaurant, smiling as he waved his hand in the air for him to join them.  Petyr shifted himself in his pants, changing the smile on his face from lustful to friendly, before holding up his own hand.  

Jaime slapped the seat beside him, indicating a wish to sit directly next to him as they spoke.  Tyrion’s flushed face and his open-mouth laughing indicated that the drink in front of him was not his first.  That was typical.  Petyr sat down, his eyes darting around for any threat.  Varys slid into the booth, blocking him from the outside.  Petyr noticed his right hand glance around the room from his new vantage point, subtly checking for any danger.

“See?  I told you I extended the invitation!”  Tyrion smiled, drink in hand as he gestured to Petyr.  

Jaime flashed his teeth to Petyr as he talked to Tyrion, “I never doubted, Brother.”  

Varys waved his hand for the waitress to come and take drinks, ordering for Petyr.  Jaime laughed, “You’ve got your man trained well.”  He then gestured over to Tyrion and said, “It’s been how many years?  And I still can’t trust that he won’t drink my drink, let alone expect that he order one for me in the first place.”  

“Perhaps I am lucky that Varys and I do not share the same taste in drink.”  Petyr smiled and nodded back to Varys as he said, “He’s less likely to be tempted.”  

Varys offered a wry smile and nodded his head in agreement.  

Tyrion swallowed the last of his drink, and offered a dramatic belch before saying, “No one ever need worry.  I appreciate all kinds of alcohol.”  

Petyr smirked in response and tried not to check his phone when it sounded.  Jaime heard it as well and appeared slightly annoyed that Petyr wasn’t immediately checking it.  “Aren’t you going to answer your phone?” 

“I wouldn’t want to be disrespectful.”  Petyr was cautious in his response and Varys hummed his agreement on the other side of him.  

Jaime slapped Petyr’s back and laughed, “Baelish, you’ve got a baby on the way!  Believe me, I get it.” 

Petyr picked up his phone and was thankful that he had angled it in such a way that neither man on either side of him could see.  Sansa had sent a picture of her underwear scrunched up and discarded on the seat of a car.  Petyr glanced all around the blue satin and lace, trying to see if the upholstery would give away some hint of what vehicle she was in.  Beneath it, she wrote,  _ Tell me what to do next.   _ Petyr felt his cock stir at the naughty suggestion.  He should have told her that this was not a good time but instead, he quickly typed,  _ Show me your pussy.   _

He set his phone back down, and smiled back at Jaime, deciding to point out the obvious, “No boys?”  

“No.”  Jaime answered as the chef in front of their table threw steaks down on the hot metal with a loud sizzling sound and began chopping vegetables.  People came to these steak houses for more than just the food, wanting a bit of a show too, but Petyr saw it for what it was: a distraction.  And what better distraction than a live show put on by people who didn’t speak a word of their language?  Jaime continued, “I want them to learn the business.  But today, we’re not dealing.  Just  _ friends _ enjoying good food and drink and a nice  _ friendly  _ chat.” 

Varys cocked an eyebrow and Petyr stifled a sigh.  He already knew that this meeting was unlike others though he asked anyway, “Oh?”

However inebriated Tyrion had previously looked, he appeared stone-cold-sober now as he said, “It’s come to our attention that you’ve been purchasing properties from the Tyrells.” 

“A lot of them.”  Jaime added, the constant smile on his face ceased reaching his eyes.  

Anticipating this confrontation, however politely conducted, Petyr did not try to lie, “Yes.”

Both Lannister men looked at each other suspiciously, clearly not expecting him to be so honest when confronted.  In the silence of them processing his candid response, the steaks had finished cooking and were plated and set in front of each of them.

“I hadn’t realized that you and the Tyrell’s were so close.”  Jaime pointed out skeptically.  

“We’re not.”  Petyr decided to divert attention over to the Tyrell’s business dealings, “I still do not know how they are getting their shipments faster than the rest of us.  They are too cagey to trust.”  

“Yet for the past month, you’ve been  _ trusting _ their businesses,” Tyrion was quick to point out.  

Had it been a month?  Just about.  Sansa was in week thirty now, and their daughter was the size of a large head of cabbage.  Their pregnancy app warned them that Sansa might be more clumsy than normal, that the hormonal changes in her body would be relaxing her ligaments, leaving her feeling off balance at times.  He hadn’t noticed any clumsiness on her part, though in fairness, he attributed any out of control sway of her hips to be the fault of the heels she insisted on wearing from time to time.  He was glad to note that the frequency of those times was decreasing, seeing her in flats more and more.  

Thinking of Tyrion’s words, it had been a month since the funeral, and that wretched night Petyr and Sansa had spent at odds.  It was the only time since they’d married that Petyr honestly thought he might lose her.  The fear of sleeping without her every night drove him to desperate acts he wasn’t proud of when he felt trapped under the weight of her wrath.  It wasn’t until she crawled into his lap at the end of the night and rubbed his scar affectionately that he finally felt assured that they remained intact.  

They had fallen asleep like that, and when he woke in the morning, he knew he had to do something and he had to do it quick.  Sansa wanted Margaery gone and he wanted Sansa.  To put his wife off any longer would be disloyal, especially after everything they’d been through.  

He had started watching the Tyrells more closely, using a common link: Olyvar.  Petyr glanced over to his right, knowing how uneasy Varys was about the whole thing, though he appreciated the man’s loyalty in not resisting.  Though he had grown to be a cherished friend, Varys had known his duty, and he fulfilled it.

This wasn’t just run of the mill crime of any sort, but instead it was organized.  Mobs were run by families.  Emotions ruled so much with loved ones and yet so often in their business, emotions needed to be reigned in and set aside.  Sansa understood it, probably more than Petyr sometimes.  She at least had practice having a family, where as he did not.  He had wanted things to work out with Bran, but wasn’t sure how to go about it, and now with Rickon he wanted to try something different.  Sansa’s reluctance to commit to a decision told him that she was struggling too.  What would they do with their own children?  Bran taught them that keeping them in the dark would not work, but Sansa wasn’t jumping to volunteer Rickon in.  Where would their daughter fall into all of this?

Petyr thought of his beautiful wife shooting out the tires of his car and told himself that regardless of what their daughter knew of their life, she would at least know how to protect herself.  The Baelishes would make sure of it.  Though Sansa was always the better shot, Petyr was more than comfortable with an array of weapons as well.  He made a mental note to research how young one could legally own a firearm.  These were things he’d never bothered to look into, as the law had always been open to interpretation.  Perhaps a thirteenth birthday gift?  No, she was Sansa’s daughter, better make it tenth birthday.  

He felt a warmth in his chest as he pictured his girls at the shooting range, mother carefully instructing daughter, and daughter dutifully listening to mother.  He would stand to the side, offering praise and encouragement.  And then, afterwards, he would take them for one of those frozen yogurts that Sansa always seemed to enjoy.  Surely their child would look like Sansa too, as he pictured her a shorter carbon copy of her mother: long fiery locks, paralyzing blue eyes, and a fiercely quick wit.  For the briefest of seconds, he thought of Sansa’s intellect and he wondered if he could survive a double dose of it.

Petyr refocused, knowing that he could not indulge such thoughts for as long as he’d like.  A private world lay in his mind and he could visit it any time, though the longer the visit, the greater the consequence he may face in the real world around him.  He looked over to his left, at the Lannisters and shrugged his shoulders as he replied, “I trust their business as much as I trust any.  A good deal is a good deal.”  

“ _ Good deal _ ?  I never would have expected that from the Tyrells,” Jaime laughed sarcastically.  

Petyr cut into the steak in front of him, unaffected by Jaime and Tyrion’s grilling.  He noted the amount of red in the middle, watching the juice seep out and pool over his plate.  The vegetables sat in it and soaked up the flavor as he took his first bite.  “Mm, cooked to perfection.”  He gestured with his fork to Jaime, “Don’t let yours go cold.”  

Jaime stared back at him, clearly annoyed at Petyr’s casual way, not feeling the pressure Jaime attempted to apply for an immediate response.  Without taking his eyes off of Petyr, Jaime picked up his utensils and carved into his steak, shoving a bite in his mouth.  Slowly a smile spread across his face as he chewed and he exclaimed, “Fuck, that _ is _ good.  Tyrion, compensate the chef.”  

Tyrion had already eaten at least two or three bites of his steak, quietly enjoying it to himself, knowing better than to step between Jaime and Petyr.  While Varys remained silent, not eating, ready to react at a moment’s notice, Tyrion opted to feed his face.  He knew his brother’s idiosyncrasies enough to not require such readiness.  Tyrion reached in his wallet, with a mouth full of food, and pulled out a hundred dollar bill.  Unable to talk, he snapped his fingers at the chef in front of them and held the cash up at him.  The man thanked him repeatedly and bowed.  Jaime waved him off to go, still chewing.  

Petyr used the distraction to look down at his phone, and feel the expected stir of his cock at the sight of his wife’s snatch.  A fiery trail of cropped hair decorated her seam, and her legs spread far enough for him to see hints of the savory pink flesh that hid deeper within.  His fingers moved quickly to instruct her to spread her lips open for him, when he realized something: the upholstery of the seat beneath her naked ass was different from the upholstery of the passenger seat that held her underwear.  Where the fuck was she?  

He took a deep breath through his nostrils to calm himself.  If she felt comfortable enough to play with him, taking such pictures, she had to be safe.  Unwilling to take that chance though, he clicked quickly on the app that gps located her phone.  As it loaded, he typed quickly,  _ Who’s car are you in? _  He took one last private look at his wife before setting the phone back down on the table, letting the program do it’s work.  

Jaime was staring back at him, wanting to get back to business, and Petyr couldn’t blame him.  He wanted to be through with this already.  He swallowed another bite before saying, “You keep saying ‘The Tyrells,’ as if I have to deal with both instead of just one.”  

Tyrion’s eyes darted over to him, suddenly at attention.  Prior to Cersei, people dealt with Jaime  _ and _ Tyrion.  It was because Jaime sought Tyrion’s counsel, not because he had to have it.  Tyrion smiled, “Of course.  The business was passed down to Loras.  Not Margaery.”  

“I should think it would be easier to deal with Margaery.  She’s smarter and her motives aren’t exactly hard to figure out.”  Jaime smiled as he cut off another piece of meat.

Petyr took a sip of his drink and shrugged, “Grief simplifies many things.” 

And it had.  Well, grief and lawyers anyway.  Petyr met with Olyvar at the first opportunity after his fight with Sansa, and learned everything he could from Varys’ boy about what went on inside the Tyrell’s house.  Petyr would have questioned how willingly Olyvar divulged the information, if he hadn’t noticed the moon eyes between him and Varys.  When Petyr sent the man off to continue surveillance, Varys asked Petyr for assurance when things were over, Olyvar would have a place with the Baelishes.  It was a rare opportunity for Petyr to do something for his friend, so he smiled and responded, “Of course.  He is yours.  Anyone with you is worthy enough to sit at our table.”  

It wasn’t much longer than a week later that Olyvar reported that Margaery took regular trips to the nursing home to visit Olenna.  He also reported how horribly Loras was falling further and further into his grief: drinking more and in a coked-out haze, powder resting just below his nose.  Loras refused to be alone, but was growing to resent Margaery’s commanding presence.  Varys fumed as he listened to Olyvar explain that Loras demanded he always be by his side, causing him to sneak out when he had to report back.  Petyr prided himself in prevailing and keeping it together through the most trying times, but knew he’d be just as bad off if not worse had it been Sansa that had been murdered.  

The vibration of his phone brought him out of his memories and he looked down to see her GPS location was the mall.  She had responded,  _ Ours—maybe.  I haven’t decided yet.  I wanted your opinion.   _ Below her answer to his question, she had included another picture, this time of her folds peeled back and one finger pressed to the side of her clit.  It was as if she had read his mind.  Petyr’s mouth watered, and he forced himself not to touch his dick through his pants.  He typed back,  _ You are such a tease.  And: ours?  Are you car shopping?   _

Petyr looked back at the Lannisters staring back at him and offered an explanation, “Sansa’s car shopping, I apologize.  She has so many questions.” 

Jaime nodded his head, “Of course.  Cersei always bought a new car with each child.  The features can be a lot to decide on.”  

“Did she?”  Petyr cocked an eyebrow.  Was this Cersei’s idea?  

Jaime smiled, carving off another piece of steak, “Yes.  She was never one to care about baby shit.  Just the kid itself.  Buying a new car always made her feel like a good mother though.  She always made sure she got the biggest, safest vehicle she could find.”  

“Then she would trick it out with chrome, underbody lights, and a sound system better than most clubs.”  Tyrion rolled his eyes at his sister-in-law.  

Unfazed, Jaime smiled proudly, “Cersei has style.  And besides, that sound system came in handy when Myrcella had colic.”  

It made sense that this is what Sansa was doing.  And it also made sense why she was in such a frisky mood.  Just a couple of weeks prior, when he showed her the new main office, she had blurted out that she didn’t know what babies needed.  As it got closer and closer to their due date, she grew more nervous that she was not prepared enough.  Buying a car was something she could do with confidence.  Petyr smiled at the thought of his wife feeling positively about her mothering instincts for a change.  Whenever Sansa felt good about herself, she became much more playful, and the left-sided smirk would appear.  His cock throbbed as he remembered all of her past naughty moods and he felt antsy to find her.  Taking a quick glance at his phone, he saw that her location had moved to a few streets over.  She must have been test-driving, pulling over to snap him photos.  

Aching to be with her, Petyr got back to business, “If you can meet with Loras without Margaery, he’s very giving, especially if you pick the right properties.”  

And by “right properties” Petyr meant everything that reminded the widower of his departed husband.

It was when Olyvar reported that Loras refused to return to Starfall because of how much the VIP Rose Room reminded him of Renly that Petyr got the idea.  He would play upon the grieving Tyrell’s vulnerability and free him of all the properties that provoked memories of his dead husband.  Varys had researched ahead of time to discover which businesses were purchased after the men had married and Petyr called Barbrey to draw up proposals.  

He was surprised to see Tarly sitting across from Loras and his own lawyer Desmond Redwyne at the country club.  Petyr had only ever met with Loras for business, but remembered how Sansa would have brunch with both Loras and Renly.  He hoped that by asking for a meeting over brunch, it would pull warm familiar feelings in the broken man, and Loras may be more agreeable.  

Petyr smiled to himself thinking how different the Tyrells were from the Lannisters, how different Petyr would need to become to deal with them.  Jaime would never be caught dead doing  _ brunch _ .  Jaime worked very hard to portray his machismo reputation and  _ brunch _ just wasn’t a word in the Lannister’s vocabulary.  Petyr himself, didn’t care either way, wanting only the prize at the end.

It was all extra. The Baelishes did not need the additional assets.  Petyr simply needed to make sure Jaime and Cersei didn’t inherit it when they killed one or more Tyrells for them.  Petyr and Sansa had to always come out on top, otherwise what was the point?  He and his queen would answer to no one.  He had to make sure that they reigned supreme as he sure as hell would not place the fate of his children on the whim of anyone he may be forced to serve under.  No, best to always be top dog. 

Loras simpered at Olyvar, “Olly here gave me the idea to sell off some of the places that Renly and I shared.”  No.  Petyr had.  It may have been through Olyvar, but it was Petyr’s idea.  Trying to avoid all the feelings that thoughts of his departed husband provoked, Loras threw himself at Olyvar, “Out with the old, in with the new.  Huh, Boo?”  He then chuckled at how his words rhymed without him meaning for them to.

Varys remained still, each muscle locked in place to keep him from moving.  Petyr could feel the passion that raged beneath the controlled exterior.   _ Easy old friend, it’s not for long. _  Olyvar wouldn’t meet Varys’ eyes as he answered Loras, “That’s right, Babe.”  

Petyr could see the smile never touched Olyvar’s eyes and hoped that Varys would notice too.  The man didn’t want to do this.  Petyr thought back to when Sansa was on Clegane’s arm and the hair on the back of his neck raised as he identified all too well with Varys. 

Loras leaned in to Petyr and whispered as softly as copious amounts of drugs and alcohol will allow, “Boy-toys have the best ideas!”  Petyr could almost hear Varys’ teeth grind in response.  A quick glance over to Olyvar had him staring at the floor.  It was an ugly situation, but grief and rebound-fucking generally was.  

Tarly had drawn up documents for Redwyne to review, both men acting with strict professionalism.  Tarly was not privy to the history between the Tyrells and Baelishes; he did not know what Petyr was up to.  He only knew that his new employer, Barbery, insisted that he be the one to oversee the contracts.  And though he did not know specifically the crimes that were taking place, Petyr felt disapproval from him in each mannerism and gesture.  Anyone could see that Loras was compromised, but he was still a grown man, head of the Tyrell Family.  No one dared to question whether or not he was capable of making decisions for himself or think to object. 

To add another layer to it, Petyr used Loras’ love for Sansa to cement the man’s decision.  As he signed the first stack of tabbed documents, he declared, “Shortcake’s gonna be so happy when she finds out!”  

“She will.”  Petyr agreed, popping a mint in his mouth, “It is the best gift the baby will ever receive.”  And though it may have Loras’ name on it, it was from Petyr.  He was weakening the Tyrell territory in anticipation of the Lannister take over.  In the process, he was giving his daughter assets of her own and she hadn’t even been born yet.  Let no one think that he did not take care of those that he loved.

Tarly interjected, “Because you do not have a specific name picked out for the baby, I wrote the contract to be in the name of “Children of Petyr and Sansa Baelish.”  This serves a double purpose, in that not only will it not require a name right away, but it will also be shared among all of your children.  Not just the one currently on the way.”  

“Is that alright with you, Loras?”  Petyr asked only to give the man some illusion of empowerment in decision-making.  Loras looked over to Redwyne, who then gave a slight nod of approval.  Petyr was impressed that even in his worn and weathered state, Loras at least had the foresight to check in with the lawyer he brought.  

Petyr recognized the man, knowing him to be more conservative in his communication and legal practices.  Olenna used to bring him along with her when she conducted any business that required signatures.  Had Loras paid close attention to Olenna before she retired?

Loras smiled, “Definitely!   _ All  _ of the Baby-Baelishes should share.”  He then shook his head at Petyr and said, “You know, Renly always told me to watch out for you, but I think that’s just because he didn’t get to see you becoming a daddy.  You’re so different now.  So supportive.”  

Petyr knew that Loras wasn’t cut out for the life on a good day, let alone when he was so crippled.  Instead of lashing out, Petyr exploited the vulnerability.  “Fatherhood does change things.  _  Family _ changes things.  I’m so glad that you have your sister to support you.”  Petyr continued as he watched Loras’ shoulders set hard and his lips pucker, “I’m surprised you didn’t bring her today.”  He wasn’t.  He had planned for her to be unavailable. 

Loras scowled as he said, “Thank you, Baelish.  Your words are kind.  Margaery means well in her own way but her non-stop advice is grating.”  He smoothed the hair back away from his face before adding, “I do apologize for the things she said at the funeral.  It was uncalled for.”  Loras glanced over at the papers being passed between Tarly and Redwyne, and then continued through shimmering dilated pupils, “I am keeping her out of this, out of respect for you and Shor--Sansa.”  Loras ran a hand through his hair, looking shy as he asked, “I hope our families can still do business, despite my sister’s...lack of tact?”

Petyr smiled back, “Of course, Loras.  Of course.  Sansa is very fond of you.  And I couldn’t be happier to unburden you of these properties, and pass them down to the baby.”    

Loras smiled, and shrugged as he asked, “Hey, do you know the gender yet?”  

Petyr realized that Sansa hadn’t told him.  It had only been a couple of weeks after the funeral and she was still raw from Margaery.  For however attached Sansa allowed herself to get to Loras, with him came Margaery.  Sansa was no fool.  She knew the smart thing to do was distance herself from him.  Petyr grinned proudly as he reported what would soon be public knowledge anyway, “Girl.”  

“A girl!”  Loras grinned and hooked an arm around Olyvar’s neck, “That’s great!  Isn’t it great, Olly?”  

Olyvar looked up, giving a sheepish grin.  Varys shifted on his feet and Petyr knew that they had to finish up as soon as possible, understanding the torture he was putting his friend through by lingering around any moment longer than necessary.  Petyr added, “Sansa wanted me to make sure that you’ll be coming to the shower.”  

Loras gasped, “Of course!  I wouldn’t miss it!”  The Tyrell had again forgotten to feel some level of responsibility for his sister, not mentioning her once.  Petyr gestured to Varys, who took a step forward and thrust an envelope in front of Loras, more forcefully than was necessary.  

“What’s this?”  Loras cocked an eyebrow, and smiled skeptically.  

Varys cleared his throat, “Your invitation was sent a while ago.  This is your sister’s.”  

Loras looked back at Petyr, questioningly.  Petyr smiled at him, “It’s important that we mend fences, isn’t it?”  

“Thank you, Baelish.”  Loras looked at him with the utmost sincerity, “Truly.”  

When they were walking outside to leave, Tarly paused in front of Petyr’s car.  He placed a packet of papers from his briefcase on the hood, “I’m not a real estate agent.”  

Petyr smiled, “Barbery assures me that you’re whoever I want you to be.”  He then knelt down and signed the deed to the office building across from Sansa’s art gallery.  Taking the ring of keys that came with the paperwork, Petyr couldn’t stop himself from teasing Tarly again, “You said that you won’t work for the mob, but it looks like you just did,  _ again _ .”  

“No.”  Tarly shook his head.  “I worked for my employer, who works for a family named Baelish.”

“What is a mob, if not a family?”  Petyr handed the papers back to Tarly to keep at the firm.  

As the man with the baby face shoved them into his briefcase, he scrunched his face in disgust at Petyr and said, “You just acquired assets for your unborn child.  That could be considered a decent thing for a father to do.  Don’t ruin it just to poke at me.”  

Petyr conceded, grinning, “I like you, Tarly.  Didn’t I tell you that?  And Sansa will be pleased when she learns that you were the one who worked on this.  Only the best for our child.”  

The man grimaced, reluctantly accepting the compliment, “Appreciated.”  He then clicked his briefcase shut and nodded his head in parting, “Have a good day, Mr. Baelish.”  

Petyr remembered texting Sansa the address to his newly acquired office building and speeding over there.  He wanted it all to be a surprise for her, telling her only that they were doing well, not much more.  Petyr knew that finally having a plan to tell her would please her enough for the moment and she would be ecstatic over the details as they unfolded.  

There had been two more meetings since that first, each while Margaery was with Olenna.  Petyr was slowly stripping away the Tyrell empire under the pretense of helping Loras move on.  It was a dirty manipulation, but what manipulations weren’t?  And Petyr kept thinking of the smile on Sansa’s face when Margaery was dead and their daughter’s trust was fat with Tyrell assets.  

It was at the second meeting that Loras declared he would take Olyvar on a month-long cruise to get some sunshine and fresh air.  He turned to Redwyne, coke dust visible under his nose, and asked, “Well, what do you think?  Good idea?  Or no?”  

He then broke out in laughter, his mind slowly unravelling.  When the man didn’t respond, Petyr saw his opening, “He’s not much of a talker is he?”  

Loras shook his head, “No.  Not in front of you.  When we’re alone he’ll be nagging my ear off about how I should slow down.  I’m just trying to be happy.  Is that so fucking wrong?”  

Petyr smiled, and shook his head sympathetically, “Not at all.  Where did you get this guy anyway?”  

“Olenna’s rolodex.  Seriously.  It’s on little papers all clipped to a circle that spins around and around.” Loras laughed as he gestured his finger in circles.  

Petyr decided to align with him, “Oh god, really?  She used a rolodex?”  

“Yeah.  Crazy, huh?  I mean, I get that she was old before she lost her marbles, but she wasn’t too old to use a cellphone.  Just sayin’.  But whatever.  When she went in the home, the thing got passed down to me, and I just spun the cards around until I found this guy.”  Loras gestured over to Redwyne and rolled his eyes.  

So, Loras was playing with Olenna’s rolodex.  At least he was smart enough to use the tools given.  Since he was speaking so openly, Petyr took the liberty to pry, “Well, I can’t fault your method.  You do get your shipments faster than anyone else.  I wish I had a rolodex to poke through.”  

Both men were smiling, and appeared in that moment, as friends.  Loras’ guard was down and he continued to speak freely as he shook his head, “No, Baelish.  I wish I could take credit for that.  But it’s all Margaery.  She made personal connections with the Harpy when she was overseas.”  

Petyr had already confirmed that it wasn’t the Harpy.  He stared back at Loras’ big eyes and innocent face.  He didn’t know.  Loras Tyrell didn’t even know who his sister was dealing with.  This was reminiscent of the Second Sons.  But they wouldn’t dare involve themselves across the water again, not after Daario.  Petyr touched his fingertips to his chest, feeling the scar under his shirt.  Daario was just one branch, but surely the others had learned from his mistake.  

The vibration of his phone pulled Petyr out of his memories of the meetings with the vulnerable Tyrell.  Sansa sent another selfie this time of both breasts proudly on display for him.  Petyr typed,  _ Beautiful.   _ He brought his attention back to Jaime, and explained frankly, “Loras is sentimental and selling off properties that remind him of Renly.”  

“That seems rash,” Tyrion judged from behind his glass.  

“Isn’t emotion though?” Petyr countered, glancing over at Varys who eyed him, catching his meaning in regards to Olyvar.  The man didn’t miss much, to Petyr’s appreciation.  

Jaime smiled, “Why are you being so forthcoming, Baelish?”  

Petyr set his utensils down on his plate, and pushed it away.  “I wasn’t.”  He then took a swig of his drink, washing the taste of his food down before he continued, “You noticed.  And then called me on it.  Why not fess up when caught?”  He tried to hide his smug smile as he succeeded in convincing the Lannisters that he hadn’t meant for this to happen all along.

“Why have you been doing this?”  Tyrion asked, leaning in.  Petyr knew Tyrion was really asking him why he would grab more power like this, despite the risks.  Buying a business off another family was not concerning, but buying multiple in such a short time was.  

When Petyr didn’t answer right away, it was Jaime that did, “Because why not?”  He stared at Petyr, his smile faint, as he asked, “Am I right?”  

“I saw an opportunity and I seized it.”  Petyr agreed then shrugged, “There are still properties left.  And he is still ripe for the picking.”  All the best properties had been bought, but Jaime didn’t know that.  There still were some left and until Jaime really examined their worth, he would just see them as assets to be taken.  

Jaime smiled at the promise of profit, quickly forgiving Petyr for his business move.  And though he spoke to Tyrion, Jaime’s eyes staring back at Petyr indicated who his words were meant for, “There.  You see?  We can’t blame Baelish just because he saw something before we did.  That’s business.”  

“Indeed.”  Tyrion agreed, seriousness wrinkling his face.  Petyr knew the little Lannister suspected there was more than just increasing profits.  As usual, Tyrion was not wrong to assume things were more complicated than how they presented.  However leary he was over the Baelishes buying up Tyrell property, Petyr knew that Tyrion would never anticipate running half the city.  

Petyr knew that if he was going to get the Lannisters to kill Margaery, he would have to plant the seed of distrust and discontent early.  It would be easy to manipulate Cersei into it, and Jaime would clean up whatever mess his wife made, but should Loras be caught in the crosshair, Petyr wanted no resistance from Jaime.  Petyr smirked at him as he said, “Don’t forget to meet when Margaery isn’t around.  He’s more agreeable that way.”  

“Oh?”  Jaime cocked an eye at him.  

Tyrion mirrored his brother’s expression, “Isn’t she his right?”

It was natural for Tyrion to appear almost offended at the suggestion that a right hand not be present during business dealings.  Jaime never dealt without Tyrion, and Petyr was always sure to bring Varys as well.  Tyrion always took an active part in the conversation, while Varys’ style was more subtle, sitting at the ready with all the documentation and research.  Petyr appreciated that about his old friend.  He never got in the way, but was always there should he be needed.  Over the years, there were countless times that Varys was needed, jumping in with his information whenever necessary.  

“She is.”  Petyr leaned in as he added, “She doesn’t know what he’s up to.”  

“You’re kidding.”  Jaime’s jaw dropped, before it lifted into a smile at the juicy bit of information, “That’s just great.”  He turned to Tyrion, “Isn’t it?” 

Tyrion laughed, “Trouble with the Tyrells.  Not very stable leadership, if you ask me.”  

Petyr took a swig of his drink as he played dumb, drawing attention back to shipments, “Well, clearly they are doing something right.  They still get their shipments faster than either of us.” 

Jaime scowled and Tyrion’s face brightened as if just remembering that fact, “Yes, they do.  If Loras is as vulnerable as you say he is, perhaps he’ll be  _ talkative _ .”  

“He was very open with me.”  Petyr confessed.  He looked surprised to have their full wide-eyed attention.  He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly as he said, “Margaery is handling the shipping.  Loras doesn’t have a clue how she’s doing it.  He said that when she was overseas, she was building relations with the Harpy.”  

“Bullshit.”  Jaime voiced his doubt as he rubbed the stubble on his chin.  

Petyr shook his head, “Ask him yourself.”  

Both Lannisters grew quiet, considering Petyr’s information and the possibility of speaking with Loras directly.  Petyr repeated, “Margaery is behind this.  Her time in the Peace Corps was not spent building shelter or offering lessons on nutrition to Ethiopians.  She was up to something.”  

Jaime sighed, “Women are the sneakier sex.” 

“You mean, fairer.”  Petyr corrected.  

Jaime shook his head, “No.  I mean sneakier.  If you don’t believe me, try keeping an eye on your wife when she doesn’t want you to.”

He did, often.  Petyr checked in on Sansa regularly, with or without her knowledge of it.  It was not that he thought she was up to something, it was merely that he always felt more at ease when he knew where she was.  Additional details like what she was doing and who she was with only added to his comfort.  

His memories of watching Sansa when she didn’t know it, and when she did, were interrupted when Jaime laughed, “Fuck, Cersei can be impossible to pin down sometimes.”

Not wanting to boast about his own ease with Sansa, Petyr smiled and shrugged, “It must just be the way with women.”  He reached for his phone when he heard it vibrate.

_ I wanna see your cock hard for me,  _ Sansa’s message made Petyr cough unexpectedly and lay his napkin in his lap to better conceal his excited erection.

“Something wrong, Baelish?” Tyrion asked, eyeing him.  

Petyr chuckled, “No.  Sansa’s just going back and forth at the dealership, uncertain of which to choose.  She wants me to help.”  

“Well, are you going to answer her?”  Jaime noted how Petyr never responded.  But, short of whipping his dick out at the table, he was unable to give Sansa a  _ proper _ response.  

Tyrion took another drink, “I am pretty sure that indecisiveness is a female trait too.”  It was unclear if Tyrion truly felt this way, or if he was just taking the opportunity to piss on his sister-in-law again.

Petyr forced a smile, not caring for the small talk the Lannisters were bothering with.  He lifted his phone, glancing again at the picture history quickly before typing,  _ Beg me for it. _

“Speaking of women, Cersei and I have a massage scheduled with a feisty illegal alien from the summer isles.  Her hands are pure magic.”  Jaime rose and gestured to Tyrion to follow.  

“Always a pleasure, Baelish.”  Tyrion took one last swig of his drink as he stepped away from the table.  

Petyr nodded his head and Jaime leaned in, pointing at his plate, “If the subject comes up in front of Cersei, I ate all my vegetables.”  Silence filled the air and Petyr blinked, expecting Jaime to  break out in laughter.  He didn’t.  He was dead serious.  Petyr nodded his head in agreement and watched as Jaime sighed, “Thanks.  She’s on my case about my cholesterol.” 

“Ah, that’s why Sansa was researching cholesterol last week.”  Petyr distinctly remembered a heated conversation where she had demanded that he go to the doctor for a physical.  Sansa crossed her arms defensively stating that she refused to raise their daughter on her own because he died of some illness he had yet to be diagnosed with.  Riding the hormone waves with his very pregnant wife had been trying at times, to say the least.  His phone buzzed,  _ On my knees?  Is that how you’d like it? _

Varys broke his quiet to interject, “At least they care enough to be concerned.  Most women don’t.”  Of course Varys would take Sansa’s side.

Petyr smirked as he typed,  _ Yes.  I want you on all fours. _

Tyrion chuckled, “Indeed.  More concerned by triglycerides than stray bullets and bad deals.”

Jaime made an “O” with his lips silently before laughing at the joke.  Petyr also found himself chuckling at the absurd way Tyrion’s words rang true.  Varys smiled and pointed at Tyrion, “That’s what we are here for.  Why would the wives worry for their husbands with us doing our jobs properly?”  

Tyrion’s eyes appraised him for a moment before he offered a half smile, “Touche.”  

Jaime nodded at Petyr, “Thanks for the information, Baelish.”  He added with a sigh, “Finally.”  He then flashed a grin and a wink before adding, “Even if I did have to woo you with steak to get it out of you.”  

Petyr laughed, “Would I be me if my cards were on the table all the time?”  

“No, we’d expect nothing less.”  Tyrion affirmed before turning to follow Jaime, “Until next time.”  

Petyr looked down at his phone to see a picture of Sansa’s lips sucking her finger as if it were his penis.  The image reminded his body of just how much it needed release.  He almost didn’t hear Varys when he was speaking to him.  “What was that?”  

“I said, ‘Do you think you pushed them enough?’  In regards to Margaery.”  Varys repeated himself.  

Petyr thought about his conversation with the Lannisters, however distracted.  “I definitely planted the seed.”  

Varys nodded, “May it be enough to move things along.”  Petyr knew that he wanted things to occur as quickly as possible to relieve Olyvar of his duty.  

Petyr wanted it all over as soon as possible to, simply to make Sansa happy and to be done with it already.  He gestured to the door, “Head back.  I’m just going to run to the bathroom real quick.”  

After Varys departed, Petyr turned for the bathroom, feeling his steps quicken.  His wife wanted to see his dick and he wasn’t about to make her wait a second longer.  The door swung open harder than he had intended, and both of the men in the restroom looked up at him startled. Dominated by his presence, they quickly fled the bathroom.  Now unencumbered, Peytr moved to a stall, unbuckling his belt before the door had fully closed behind him.  Reaching in his pants, he fished himself out and applied some pressure before he opened up the camera on his phone.  Petyr stared at his own cock on the screen and pressed the capture button, sending it to Sansa.  This was not the first time he’d sent her a dick pic and he smiled, knowing that it wouldn’t be the last.  

Within seconds, his phone was ringing, the icon of her ringed finger over her baby bump flashed across his screen.  He pressed the  _ accept _ button and put the phone to his ear, listening to her sultry voice, “Are you still gripping your cock?”  

He had been holding himself, squeezing a little, though at the sound of her voice, had started tugging.  “Yes.  Is your pussy still wet?”  

“Mm,” She moaned and it sent a shiver through him.  “Your cock looks so good.  I’m fingering myself right now, wishing it were you.”  

Petyr exhaled, throbbing at the sound of her voice.  “I wish it was too.  I’d spread your legs nice and wide for me and then I’d rub you all over.”  

She sighed, “Yes.  Petyr, tease my cunt.  Make me need it.”  

Without realizing it, Petyr was nodding his head up and down, “Yeah.”  He took a deep breath, as his hand worked his shaft, “It’s my turn to tease you, Sansa.  I’m going to nudge the head of my dick against your clit.  You’ll be so needy for me.”  

He heard her breathing deepen as she groaned, “Please, Petyr.  I wanna feel you.  You fit so perfect.  You’re so fucking big, you stretch me till I can’t breathe.”  

His hand was yanking himself fiercely at the sound of her lust-laden voice.  “It’s all for you, Sansa.”  It was him that couldn’t breathe as he labored to speak, “I’m gonna fuck you so deep, you naughty tease.”  

Her voice hitched playfully through her panting as she asked, “Was it difficult to talk about boring business while you stared at my pussy?

“Yes.”  Petyr admitted in between panted breaths.    

“Are you gonna come for me?”  She sounded excited at the promise of his orgasm.

His voice caught and he had to force his answer through his teeth, “ _ Yes _ .”

“Are you thinking about rubbing my tits and spanking my ass while you jerk off?”  She sounded so desperate for it that, if he could, he would do just exactly as she’d asked.  

He felt so close, every muscle in his body tightening as he said, “I’m gonna--I’m gonna--”

“NO!”  She yelled through the phone and it sent a jolt through him, stopping him immediately.

His hand released his grip, and his cock bobbed uncomfortably in the open air.  “What the fuck, Sansa?!”  

She sighed into the phone, “I think I picked a car.”  

What?  What the hell was she talking about?  Petyr’s face scrunched in annoyance, feeling his pulse pounding at the tip of his cock, as he wondered whether or not she’d allow him some relief.  “Okay.  We were in the middle of something…”  

She ignored him, continuing, “But I want your opinion.”  

“Okay.”  He fought the urge to sound like a petulant child and say,  _ It’s my opinion that we finish what we were doing. _

“So put your dick in your pants, just long enough to leave the restaurant.”  She sounded so playful, yet her recent denial only granted her quiet grumbles from him as he tucked his unaddressed ache back into his pants.  She must of heard his groaning because she laughed as she said, “You can fuck me when you find me.  I’m parked out front.”  

At word that she was just outside, he was buckling his pants and exiting the bathroom.  He reflexively popped a mint in his mouth, crunching it in his teeth, as he hastily asked, “Which vehicle is it?”  

He was halfway across the main dining room when he heard her smile, “Guess.”  

“Give me a hint?”  He was at the front door, looking through the glass before he opened it.

“It’s black.”  She said back simply.  Petyr walked through the door, scanning the street.  

There were too many black vehicles.  He growled back into the phone, “Where are you?” 

She giggled through the phone as he walked closer to the line of cars, “Aww, poor baby.  Are you too horny to think?” 

Petyr stifled a growl, only Sansa could get away with talking to him that way.  Just as he walked past a large SUV, the tinted passenger window rolled down.  Petyr looked inside to see Sansa smiling at him as she held the phone to her ear, “Come fuck me in an Escalade?”  

Petyr dropped his phone, forgetting to hang it up in his haste as he jumped in the passenger side.  He didn’t notice her finger on the button, rolling the window up, as he flew at her.  Shielded behind the tinted glass, Petyr slid his hand up her thigh, pleased to note that she was still stripped of her underwear.  His fingers slid past her folds as he kissed her neck, whispering, “I’ll fuck you anywhere you want.”  

She laughed happily at his attention, “So you don’t mind that I’m car shopping?  I just really want to do something for the baby.”  

“I don’t care if you buy a new car.  Or five new cars.”  He answered as he kissed her neck.  Petyr was becoming accustomed to the way Sansa’s mind could shift to her maternal side more and more now, even in the middle of their intimate acts.  Giving her what she needed, he nipped at her ear and breathed, “You’re such a good mother.”  

“Yeah?”  Her eyes started to close, falling into the comfort of his massage between her legs as he praised her.  Her voice was faint in her arousal as she insisted, “I want to be good for her.”  

Petyr listened to her gasp as he dipped his fingers inside her.  Offering her reassurance, his voice was smooth as he promised, “You are.”  His thumb pressed against the most responsive side of her clit, and he curled his fingers, reaching the sweet spot inside as he spoke into her ear, “You’re so good for her.”  

Her resulting moan carried a plea for him to not stop as her hips shifted in her seat, squirming on his fingers.  When he saw her reach across the console for his fly, Petyr used his free hand to help her take his cock back out, and shivered at the feel of her grip.  He fought heavy eyelids, weighed down in his own pleasure as he watched her cheeks heat and her mouth hang open gasping for breath as their hands worked each other.  Unable to keep the thought silent, he whispered, “And you’re so naughty for me.”  

He knew she heard him through her arousal when she smiled and sped up her hand, while thrusting herself further onto his fingers.  Petyr glanced over the seats to the back, noticing how spacious it would be with the seats folded down.  He also took note of the tinted windows and agreed that this car would be a solid choice, though perhaps not for the same reasons as she was thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All chapters in this series up to this point have been edited by Faradaze, whom I truly can not thank enough.  
> Please check out this piece by her:  
> [Slick As A Baby Seal ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7540495/chapters/17144578)


	32. Jack & Jill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I won at presents!

Sansa had never been to a baby shower before, but bet that hers was not typical.  There was no identified theme, much to Varys’ dismay, though the note on all the invitations read: _Jack and Jill._  At Petyr’s insistence, she was sure.  “Jack and Jill” meant that men were invited to this traditionally “women only” event.  It was for protection purposes only--no man found onesies and rattles all that captivating.  But key players were going to be present, therefore, Petyr would be as well.  Different from a wedding or a funeral, people packed lightly for an occasion such as this.  Though, any level of armament lately created a need in her husband to stand vigilant guard over her and the life they created together.

It was not as though she would be left completely vulnerable otherwise- Arya was present, bringing Gendry with her.  Near as Sansa could tell, Arya hadn’t included him in the life.  No, whenever Arya was involved in a bit more than your typical fist fight, it wasn’t Gendry she sought.  Though, the man at least knew well enough to follow Arya’s lead, and had the muscles to back them up.

And then there was always Jon.  With him, was Ygritte, who looked quite out of place.  Sansa hadn’t yet formed a solid opinion of the woman, and would never admit that whatever she did think of her was colored with a tinge of jealousy.  Jon had only ever been available to Sansa.  For years.  And now he was taking more and more time off, his usual around-the-clock schedule looking more and more like a fifty hour work week.  A small scowl would form if she thought on it for too long.  Luckily, when she saw how happy he looked, she could find a genuine smile.  

“Oh, wow, Sans.  I know I’m not exactly up on this shit, but isn’t it a little fucked up to invite your girls to this?”  Arya’s voice pulled Sansa’s attention away from Jon and Ygritte sharing a private moment.  

“What?”  Working girls weren’t invited.  Otherwise, Ros would be kicking around.  Sansa rather enjoyed Ros and would invite her over anyone else at the clubs.

“The stripper.”  Arya gripped her shoulder and pointed across the room at the back of a woman in a tight metallic pink dress and chestnut hair.  “I know you chill with them and stuff at the club...but…  You know what?  Fuck it.  Who cares, it’s your day.”  

Sansa barely heard the last part as the brunette turned around, her short skirt riding even higher, the neckline dipping obscenely low.  It was Margaery.  Of course.  Sansa didn’t know why she was surprised.  Petyr told her that he’d be inviting her.  It was part of the plan.  She took a deep breath and reminded herself that there was a plan now.  “No, Arya.  Not a stripper, just a _whore_.”  

“Strippers dress better.”  Cersei’s voice flanked Sansa’s other side.  Sansa gave her a welcoming nod before turning back to eye Margaery.  Cersei clucked her teeth, “You just had to play nice and invite her.”

“It’s just business.”  Sansa forced a smile as she stared ahead, not bothering to turn and acknowledge the Lannister’s chastising directly.  

Cersei brought her wine glass to her lips.  “Isn’t it always?”  

Arya craned her neck around Sansa, seeing Cersei for the first time.  “Cersei?”

Cersei smiled knowingly, “Arya.  You have grown.”  

“No avoiding it, really.”  Arya shot back, appraising her.  Sansa couldn’t blame her sister for being cautious. Cersei often provoked a less than favorable gut response.  

“Sansa never told me how sharp you’ve become.”  She looked back at Sansa and raised an eyebrow, “Then again, she doesn’t really talk about you much at all.”  

Sansa locked eyes with Cersei, recognizing the slight challenge.  A light interchange between friends quickly turned serious, two bosses meeting.  Sansa would stare down Satan himself if it meant protecting Arya.  In the meantime, Cersei would do.  Her voice was hard as she imposed her dominance, “Arya doesn’t do business.  She isn’t _involved_.”

“Not _involved_?”  Cersei scoffed, “She’s family, isn’t she?”  

It was a black or white issue to Cersei: family or not family, in the life or not in the life.  It was an entirely mutually exclusive concept that allowed no exceptions.  To Jaime and Cersei, everyone wanted in and the only way in was by blood or marriage.  Sansa wondered what they thought of Petyr behind closed doors; he wasn’t born to it and he didn’t marry into his control of the East either.  Sansa glanced at Petyr talking with Tyrion and Jaime, and admired how her husband made his own rules.  Sansa could make her own rules too.  She asserted her original statement, “Arya doesn’t do business.”

Her little sister’s voice chimed in, “I don’t really do the city scene.  I’m never around.”

Cersei glared back at Sansa, neither of them having blinked since the turn of mood.  The silence would be deafening if it weren’t for the cacophony of partygoers in the background.  Finally, Cersei offered an exaggeratedly slow blink before raising a hand in mock surrender.  “Who am I to say how you run your family?”  

Sansa smiled triumphantly.  Arya, not understanding fully what was going on, tried to change the subject, “Those guys need to get a room.  I mean nothing against gay guys, but they look like they’re about to fuck right here in front of everyone.”

Loras was draped over Olyvar, shamelessly grabbing at the man as he laughed and drank his wine.  Cersei gestured to Olyvar, as if just then noticing his existence,though Sansa found that hard to believe.  It was hard to miss the blonde model, styled straight off the runway and dripping in Tyrell diamonds.  “Who’s the new player?”  

Sansa feigned ignorance, “I don’t recognize him, and Petyr hasn’t said anything.  So, either he’s not from here, or he’s a nobody.  Loras will chew through him soon enough.”  

“I’ve heard he enjoys his salads tossed, yes.”  Cersei snickered.  

Sansa offered her an encouraging smirk, knowing that to say differently would raise suspicion over their man on the inside.  Arya stared ahead at the Tyrell circus act: the fallen man who sagged against his boy-toy and the whore that accompanied them.  Her sister then shrugged her shoulders and said, “I gotta be honest, I’m not into it.”  

Cersei coughed into her drink, “Excuse me?”  

“A tongue up the ass, is not a tongue I want in my mouth later.  No matter how many times they brush their teeth.”  Arya stated matter-of-factly before taking a sip of her wine, and making a disgusted face.  “People drink this shit?”    

Sansa’s eyes bulged in surprise and she bit the inside of her cheek to temper any further outward response.  Cersei on the other hand, laughed, “It’s an acquired taste.”

Arya cocked an eyebrow and offered a mischievous grin, “Wine or ass?”  

“Both.”  Cersei’s response was too automatic.   

Sansa wished she could melt into the wall behind her.  Thankfully, her daughter pushed against her belly, reminding her that she was there, and that the day was just for them.  Sansa rubbed her hand over her, and thought to herself, _In this life, nothing’s ever just for us._  She looked up to see Petyr talking with Tyrion.  Jaime was nowhere in her immediate sight, and she wondered if perhaps he was indisposed.  Petyr offered her a sideways smile and then flicked his glance to his left.  Margaery was approaching Joffrey, ever so slowly, and not so subtly.  

Sansa knew that for this plan to work, she would have to begin introducing the idea  of Margaery and Joffrey together slowly.  She couldn’t just blurt things out and not expect Cersei to realize that the Baelishes had known all along.  So she looked at who else was around Joffrey: all the Lannister siblings and Gendry.  What the hell was Gendry doing over there?  He shifted slightly and Sansa noticed a refreshment table behind him.  That explained it.

As Margaery slowly advanced, Sansa pointed Cersei in that general direction, “Oh Cers, your poor kids.  They must be bored to tears over there.”

Cersei glanced over and then sighed, “Fucking hell.  I told them not to spoil their appetites.”  

Arya furrowed her brow, “Aren’t they adults?”   

Cersei whipped her head around and scowled, “Your point being?”  

“Nothing.  No point.”  Arya shrugged, deciding not to enter the ring of a match she knew she was sure to lose.  

Sansa stifled a laugh as she said, “I don’t have kids,” she rubbed her hand over her belly, “Yet.  But I hear they need their mother to teach them self-control and moderation.”  

Cersei sighed, “It’s true, Little Dove.  Even now, after all these years.  It’s enough to tear your hair out.  I’ll go address it.  Then I’m probably gonna go smoke a blunt in the bathroom to calm myself.  You want in on it?”  

“She’s pregnant.”  Arya stated the obvious.  

Cersei slowly blinked, as if that were not response enough.

“No.  I’m good.”  Sansa smiled at her.  

“I’m coming back.”  Cersei threatened playfully.  “We’re going to keep circling back to each other because there’s no one else here really worth talking to.”  

“Thanks!”  Arya responded.  

“You’re welcome.”  Cersei smiled at her and then turned back to Sansa, as if Arya was not mildly perturbed on the other side, “And besides, I haven’t given you my present yet.”  

Sansa smiled as she watched Cersei move towards her children.  Margaery had been heading in that direction, set to land on Joffrey, though was diverted when she saw Cersei approaching.  Sansa had hoped that Cersei would arrive just as Margaery was.  Disappointed that her plan was foiled, she barely heard Arya say, “Speaking of presents…”

Sansa looked down at the small black box with a red bow that had been shoved into her hand.  Arya rolled her eyes as she said, “If it’s stupid, tell me.”  

“What?  No.”  Sansa smiled back at her, forgetting for a moment about Cersei and Margaery, Joffrey and Loras, Varys and Jaime, and really everyone else on the planet.  Her fingers worked the box, pulling the lid off, suctioned to the bottom as it was.  Underneath the dark blue tissue paper, lay what looked almost like a leatherman, but slimmer.  It was silver, with holes punched into it, and a wolf’s head engraved at the top.  Sansa looked up at Arya, curious, as she said tentatively, “Thank you.”  

“It’s a butterfly knife,” Arya explained.  She pulled it out of the box and opened it up to show a hidden would-be blade inside.  It was truly just a hunk of flat metal that was dull on both sides.  Arya’s voice got nervous as she said, “Well kind of.  It’s really a tester.  I thought it’d be bad to give a baby a knife.  But I also thought it would be good for her to practice on and get familiar with, for now.”  

Unsure of what to say, Sansa thanked her again through her puzzled smile.  Arya pulled her own blue knife out of her pocket, flicking it around a couple of times as she smiled, “I’ll show her how to do some tricks.  It’ll be great Auntie time.”

Sansa was nodding her approval when she felt a familiar hand on her hip.  Petyr.  His voice was warm over her shoulder, “A Balisong blade?”

Sansa looked up at him, mildly amused, “You know what this is?”

“Of course.”  He pulled it from the box and flicked it open, appearing to disapprove, “A tester?”  

Arya shrugged, “It’s for a baby.  I didn’t think a real blade would be a good idea.”  

“So tape the sharp edge.”  Petyr spoke as if it was the most obvious solution imaginable.  Sansa watched as the knife and its two halves of a handle twirled around in his hands.  

“You’re pretty good with that.”  Arya approved.  

Petyr offered a smug smile.  Sansa knew that this was likely yet another skill he’d picked up in his youth on the streets.  She curled more into the arm that gripped her, careful of the false knife he flung around in the other.  Arya spun her knife and said, “Can you do an Icepick Aerial?”

Petyr chuckled, “Yes.  But it’s too obvious a move.  And it’s been years.”  He flipped the tool in the opposite direction, “You do Behind the Eight Ball?”  

Sansa glanced over at Arya who was studying Petyr’s movements, trying to match them.  “How in the hell?”  

Petyr stilled the practice knife and instructed, “...rotate your hand to the left.  Swing the safe handle out…”  

She knew she probably shouldn’t be turned on by remnants of a difficult time in Petyr’s life, but Sansa appreciated finding yet another hidden skill of her husband’s.  She slipped a hand to his back and turned her head to kiss his shoulder when she noticed Loras and Olyvar.  

One glance to the right told her that Varys had noticed as well.  The poor man knew how to conceal his emotions enough not to brood, but regardless of his ability to maintain appearances, that’s exactly what he was doing.  He was so often kept from Olyvar, that Sansa thought to maneuver things to his advantage for a short while.  She tilted her head to gesture for him to approach, and kissed Petyr’s cheek when he noticed her quick movement.

Sansa turned to Arya, “Thank you, Arya.”  

“You like it?”  There was a child-like nervousness to her that only came out on the rarest of occasions.    

“It’s perfect.”  

“Good, cause I wasn’t sure.  And then I saw this.”  Arya smiled.  

Sansa changed the subject to get her moving along, “I think Gendry is going to eat the whole refreshment table, if he can.”

Arya glared at him, “Ugh.  I’m sorry, Sans.  I’ll go manage him.”  

Before Sansa could tell her that it was quite alright, Arya was already trudging off after him.  Petyr whispered in her ear, “Why did you call Varys over?”  

Sansa spoke out of the side of her mouth, “Because I want to give him and Olyvar a moment.”  

“Sansa.”  He warned.  

“Petyr.”  She issued the same warning.  

Before another word could be uttered, Loras was in front of them, throwing his arms up, “Shortcake!”  

He reached over and muckled onto her, “It’s not a funeral now; I can give my Shortcake hugs and kisses!”  He let his head drop to her shoulder, and turned it to face Petyr, “Can’t I, Baelish?!”  

To his credit, Petyr smiled modestly and raised his glass to Loras.  Sansa offered him a soft chuckle and tapped his back as she answered, “Of course you can give me a hug.”  

Loras gave her another squeeze before he slowly pulled back, “Congratulations, Shortcake.”  

She smiled back at him, “Thank you, Loras.  It means a lot coming from you.”  

Though he wasn’t crying, his eyes were misty as he said, “This world needs more life in it.”  

How true those words were.  Sansa felt the weight of Renly’s death on her chest.  Petyr’s grip on her hip tightened in support, knowing how she felt, despite the facade she put on.  She became aware that Varys was on the other side of Petyr.  She smiled, turning her attention to the bald man, and handed him Arya’s gift.  “Can you tuck this away in our suite for me?”  

Varys raised an eyebrow at her but stepped forward and accepted it from her all the same.  He had just turned to leave when Sansa made a dramatic show of pointing at Loras’ glass, “You’re almost empty!  That won’t do at all!”  

Loras laughed, “No it won’t!”  

She turned to Olyvar, “We brought some good wine with us.  I can have one glass a day, you know.  And if I can only have one glass, it won’t be the swill they serve here.  Varys will show you where it is.”  She then raised her voice and called out to the back of Varys’ head, “Can you show this gentleman where we keep the special reserve?”

Olyvar’s face brightened, and Loras’ grip on his arm tightened.  The Tyrell frowned, “No, it’s okay.  I’d rather he stay with me.”  

Petyr scoffed with a playful smile, “Oh come on, Loras.  Let the man get you a proper drink.”  

Varys stood patiently, but Sansa could just feel the energy radiating off of him at the possibility of being alone with his lover.  Olyvar’s voice was low as he turned to Loras and offered him a peck on the cheek, “I’ll just be a minute, Babe.”  

Loras fretted, “Just a minute.”  

Olyvar nodded, detaching from the Tyrell’s grip, only to be caught up in it again as Loras asked hopefully, “Kiss?”  

It was awful.  Pathetic.  This needy behavior was not befitting even one of their girls, let alone a boss.  Sansa knew she was supposed to appreciate how the family was crumbling, as it only meant more power for them, but it was becoming too ugly to watch.  Varys stared down at his shoes while Olyvar turned to Loras, kissing him deeply to avoid any more hesitation or question from the man.  

Petyr let his thumb rub into her hip, telling her in his silent way, that he understood what she was thinking, because on some level, he thought it too.  After a couple more seconds, Loras refocused on Sansa and Petyr, realizing that he was left completely alone with them.  Not willing to feel out of place or uncomfortable for long, Loras announced, “Your gift!”  

Petyr smiled at Sansa, “You’re going to love it.”  

“Do you have the paperwork?”  Loras asked Petyr, his smile fading.

“Right here.”  Petyr pulled a stack of folded papers out of his blazer pocket, smiling as he handed them to Sansa.  

The many papers kept together cracked loudly, as she unfolded them.  “What is this?”  

“Deeds.”  Loras answered quickly.  He grinned proudly, “To some of my _former_ properties.”  

“ _Former_ properties?”  Margaery all but yelled, suddenly beside him.  She must have noticed their meeting when she was diverted from Joffrey.  She wore a curious smile, showing how little she knew.  And her eyes, piercing, revealed how angry she was about it.  

In a rare display of courage, Loras answered with a self-satisfied smile, “I sold Baelish all the places that reminded me of Renly, and signed the deeds off to any and all of Sansa’s babies.”  He turned his head back to Sansa, offering a proud grin and a suggestive eyebrow waggle, “Hear that, Shortcake?  You can start a litter!”

He broke out into a laugh and threw an arm around Margaery as he exclaimed, “I won at presents!”  

Sansa casually brought her hand down to squeeze Petyr’s thigh in appreciation, knowing it was him that was responsible for the gifts Loras was taking credit for.  His chest rumbled happily against her shoulder, as they watched Margaery struggle to fake a smile.  The woman looked like she stepped in shit, but had a pageant to parade in.  Her voice was low as she hissed, “That’s quite thoughtful, Loras.”  She tilted her head as she added, “Though, I could have helped you to think on it more, if you had included me.”

Loras scowled, “I don’t need you constantly looking over my shoulder.  You know, you and Gram aren’t the only ones who can make business decisions in this family!”

Both Baelishes raised their heads, eyes scanning,  and ears listening intently.  Loras was talking about Olenna in the present tense.  Sansa remembered seeing the woman at the funeral.  She appeared frail and well in the grips of dementia, unable to even offer the simplest of comfort to her grieving grandson.  People who smiled absently at the clouds in the sky, while a loved one snuggled into them, unleashing rivers of tears, did not make business decisions.

Margaery laughed and looked around quickly, “Of course, Loras.  No one’s saying you can’t.”  

“And I do give good presents!”  Loras pointed at the floor raising his voice.  “You think I don’t think.  But you’re wrong.  I’m very thoughtful.”  

“Of course.”  She was trying desperately to control him in front of so many bystanders, and failing miserably.  Sansa felt an arousing tingle of excitement, watching the whore struggle to stay afloat as her brother dragged her and their family name down.  Margaery cooed to him quietly, “You’ve always been so thoughtful.”

“You’re just saying that.  You always just want to shut me up.  Both of you.  Renly wouldn’t have let you treat me this way.”  Loras insisted, staggering a little.  

Petyr’s voice purred in Sansa’s ear, “ _Both._ ”  Sansa nodded before tilting to touch the side of her face to his.  She had heard it too.  As far as they knew, the Tyrell family only consisted of the siblings and Olenna.  Perhaps Olyvar was being included in the fold, as he was living behind enemy lines.   _Both_ could have easily meant Margaery and Olyvar.  Maybe in Loras’ inebriated state he was confusing past and present, referring to Olenna back when she was useful.  It would not be difficult to assume that Olenna in her prime would deem her grandson incapable of making decisions.  

Petyr had pulled out his phone and was typing something in when Sansa heard Margaery change the subject, “Where’s Olyvar gotten to?  He always makes you happy!”  

Loras’ eyes darted around the room, “Olly?”  

Within seconds Olyvar appeared in front of him, holding his arms out, “I’m right here, Babe.”  

“Olly.”  Loras snuggled into his arms.  Margaery smiled and looked around the room, checking to see that everyone was witnessing Loras’ change in mood.  She had worked hard to tame the drunken toddler, and Sansa could tell she wanted to see a positive effect from it.

As the dramatic display calmed down, Sansa considered a third possibility: that Olenna didn’t really have Alzheimer's at all.  Though, there didn’t seem to be any particular benefit to such a rouse.  There was no more power to be gained by pretending to be out of the loop, and business didn’t appear to be thriving in her absence.  The Tyrells did well.  Much better than anyone expected them to, without her overseeing them, but not so overwhelmingly so that it warranted her moving into a retirement home _years_ before she needed to.  

Suddenly, Sansa got an idea and whispered into Petyr’s ear, “What was the name of that retirement home?”  

Petyr grinned proudly and kissed the side of her neck before he raised his phone and said, “I’m finding out.”  

Sansa squeezed his thigh again, and smiled at the mix of people that occupied her Jack and Jill baby shower.  She caught sight of Varys out of the corner of her eye, looking annoyed, but with a color to his cheeks that he had been lacking.  Petyr noticed too because he smiled, “Speaking of _thoughtful_ ,”  Sansa knew his use of the word was referring back to Loras and Margaery’s tiff, “It was very thoughtful of you to give Varys and his man some time.”

“What can I say? I was feeling romantic.”  Sansa grinned.  

Petyr gave her a chaste peck on the shoulder as he ran his hands up her sides and under her arms.  The affection was innocent enough until he allowed his fingertips to tease the sides of her breasts discreetly.  His voice was hot in her ear, “How romantic?”  

She laughed then and moved one of his hands down to their baby.  “About as romantic as anyone thirty-one weeks along can be.”  Sansa moved his palm over the expanse of her belly to demonstrate how large it had grown.  

Slipping free of her grip, he moved to trace her pantyline through her dress as he said, “You’re hardly large enough to be put out to pasture.”  

“She’s as big as a cabbage.  Cabbages are quite _large_ , you know.”  Sansa sighed.

He smirked into her ear, “If you’re implying that because our child is growing, the romance is dead, I have something to say to that.”  

“Oh?”  Sansa tilted her head.

“Yes.”  Petyr pressed his erection into her ass, “I’m far from done with you yet.”

She shivered more at his possessive words than she did the feel of him against her, though that was also helpful.  His hands found her belly again.  Anyone looking would see a soon to be father holding an expectant wife and their budding baby affectionately.  They wouldn’t see the damp patch in the panties Sansa would have to walk around in for the rest of the day, or the developing bruise on her ass cheek from a cock, unrelenting in its rock-hard nature.  He chuckled into her ear, “Besides, we haven’t even gotten into the melons yet.”  

He was right.  The first melon was a cantaloupe, week thirty-four.  Before they could flirt any further, Jon and Ygritte were in front of them, holding a box covered in stork wrapping paper.  Sansa whispered, “You’re going to have to let me go, in order to talk with them.”  

While Jon could hear him, Ygritte could not.  Petyr groaned playfully, as he let her go and welcomed them.  They complimented the shower, Ygritte appearing almost overwhelmed by the decadence that the Baelishes were accustomed to.  There were times that Sansa forgot how opulent  everything must seem to someone on the outside looking in.  They bid Sansa open their gift, and after peeling back the paper and opening the box, Sansa teared up instantly, looking down at the ceramic imprint kit.  Ygritte smiled at her and told her that she figured Sansa might want an impression of the baby’s hand or foot as a keepsake.  

Jon explained that he remembered Catelyn’s “Hall of Baby.”  It was what the Stark children called the room that held all their memorabilia.  One wall had a row of pressed ceramic baby feet, one for each child.  It had all been boxed up and left in storage, forgotten about.  Sansa bit her lip, thinking, _Leave it to Arya to give my child a weapon, and Jon to give her something normal._

Petyr grinned and thanked them, speaking for Sansa, when her voice caught in her throat.  Jon leaned forward and gave his cousin a hug.  Somehow, for just a moment, Sansa felt closer to her mother, as she was holding someone who shared a memory of her.  When they pulled apart, Sansa thanked them both and lied, saying she had to go to the bathroom.  She needed a moment, or a thousand.  

It was on the way to the bathroom that Sansa caught sight of Margaery and Joffrey, talking in a  secluded corner.  She scanned the room, looking for Cersei, and spotted her glaring at Tyrion.  Sansa all but ran over to them, offering Tyrion a polite smile before turning to Cersei, “Bathroom?”

Cersei looked back in curiosity and then shrugged her compliance.  Offering little respect to her brother in law, she turned away from him mid-conversation and followed.  Sansa lead her through the crowd, slowing as they passed Margaery and Joffrey.  To Sansa’s disappointment, Cersei didn’t turn her head to look as she spoke, “Thank you.”  

“For?”  Sansa came to a full stop, hoping that her standing in place would present a greater chance of Cersei seeing her son and the whore fraternizing.  

“You’re a grown woman who can go to the bathroom herself.  So I’m assuming you’ve got some happy-pills to share, which, shame on you Prego.”  She leaned in offering a wink, “Not that I’m judging.  Or you were just trying to help me avoid that little monster.”

“Why do you hate him so much?”  Sansa asked, stalling for more time, and turned to try to angle Cersei’s line of sight better.  

“Why do I breathe?”  Cersei smirked.  

Sansa shrugged.  Then felt her stomach drop, as she glanced back, and caught Tommen approaching, blocking Margaery from sight.

“Because it would kill me to stop.”  Cersei’s face had an eerie stoicism that came out of nowhere.  Then she smiled, as if flipping a switch, “I’m going to take it that you weren’t trying to help shake him, so you must have some great mind-altering candy for me.”      

Sansa laughed and held her hands up, “No drugs.”  

“Fuck.”  Cersei mock-pouted.  “Why can’t you be a shit-mom who packs some blow in with your nursing pads?  For my sake?”

“I’ll try harder.”  Sansa joked.

Cersei frowned into her glass.  “No you won’t.  You’re only saying that to make me feel better.”  She took a sip and then asked, “So then, why did you really pull me away?”  

Sansa found Margaery talking to Lancel’s Fray wife, and thought fast on her feet to keep Cersei’s eyes on the whore.  “I forgot.  What’s Lancel’s wife’s name again?”  

“Unimportant.”  Cersei rolled her eyes.  “I can’t believe you called me over, and got me all excited for that.”  

“She’s talking to Margaery.”  Sansa pointed out the obvious.  

“It’s small talk.”  Cersei dismissed it.  “Lancel’s wife has nothing to offer anyone.  Margaery isn’t gaining anything from her.”  Cersei took another sip of wine before she smiled, “Lancel on the other hand…”

“Lancel on the other hand, what?”  Sansa asked.  She’d deemed him an idiot upon their first meeting, and as time passed, his comfort in touching her only confirmed his stupidity.  His father, Kevan, and his wife approached Lancel and his Fray bride, smiling politely and talking lightly.  If Sansa were being honest, she would consider the father well before the son, and didn’t know what Cersei was thinking.  Kevan was a good ‘ol boy who couldn’t keep it in his pants, but at least he treated whatever woman he was supposed to be exclusive with like a princess when he was with her.  That, and the man had a brain and knew his place.  

Cersei grinned, “At the very least, he’s great spank-bank material.”  

Sansa remained silent, surprised that Cersei was confessing who she masturbated to.  She must have been joking.  She had to have been.  The Lannisters were as inseparable as her and Petyr, everyone knew that.  Rubbing one out to someone else was not the same as fucking around, but it wasn’t something you just said to your girlfriends if your marriage was strong.

Sansa felt her phone vibrate.  It was Petyr, _You’re not in the bathroom.  That’s ok, I can see you’re working.  Has she seen them yet?  Nod yes or no, I’m watching._  Sansa slowly shook her head smiling, as if to be teasing Cersei.  

Pretending to be defensive Cersei laughed, “What?!  It’s not like I’m the only one who can recognize an attractive male.  Look at the muscles on him; he takes care of himself.  Men don’t look that pretty and not expect us to look.”  

“Said every man in a locker room about a woman.”  Sansa laughed and rolled her eyes.  

“Oh, right, because you’ve never looked at anyone but Baelish.”  It was Cersei who was rolling her eyes now.  She added, “Never _had_ anyone but Baelish.”

Sansa was starting to feel annoyed, “No.  Not since him, no.”  

Cersei’s voice softened, “Sometimes…”  She gazed at Lancel like she was starving and he was a feast.  “Sometimes, I wonder what something different would feel like.”  

She had drunk too much wine.  Sansa wasn’t sure that Cersei would ever reach a limit, but clearly, she must have.  There was no way Cersei would want anyone other than her _Magnificent Husband_ and moreover, there was no way that Cersei would ever admit it, if she did.

Sansa kept her eyes on Lancel, forcing herself to not turn and gawk at Cersei.  After a minute with no more follow up, Sansa was certain that the Lannister was serious.  A friend, a true friend, would turn to face her and say, “What are you doing? Don’t go down that road.  You’ve got a good thing; don’t ruin it.”  But Cersei wasn’t her friend, not really.  The same rules did not apply.  

However, perhaps there was a middle-ground.  Sansa kept her eyes on Lancel with Cersei, and donned a naughty smile, “Does that mean that Jaime’s free?”

The air crackled and popped next to her, as she more felt than heard Cersei fume, menace rolling off the woman.  She did not speak, just glared.  

Sansa shrugged, “What?  Your husband’s got a nice smile and he’s always asking for swaps.”  

Everyone knew that with Jaime, it was just bluster, but the fact that Sansa used that to her benefit only picked at Cersei more.  She ground through her teeth, “Try it, Fatty.”  

Neither woman looked at the other, keeping their eyes on Lancel in front of them.  They more stared through him, than really looked at him.  For the second time that day, neither woman was willing to avert her gaze, lose any ground.  Finally, Sansa cocked an eyebrow, and asked in mild amusement, “Did you just call a pregnant woman Fatty?”

Sansa watched the side of Cersei’s cheek lift in a grin, “Did I stutter?”  

“Bitch.” Sansa laughed.

“Did you doubt?” Cersei joked, finally looking at her again.  “You are right,” she said, turning back to Lancel, who was laughing a little harder than necessary across the room, “Anyone who’s not Jaime would be a step down.”  

Sansa almost jumped out of her skin, when she felt an arm wrap around her back and grip her, so lost in her thoughts of the marriage she may well have preserved.  She relaxed, smelling her husband’s cologne, and seeing his eyes shine at her.  His smile seemed a little less than genuine, as he playfully asked, “Should I be jealous?”  

Sansa stilled, smelling the mint that rolled off his tongue.  The scent was stronger than usual; he must have chewed through a couple of them before approaching, a clear sign of his discomfort.  Without hesitation, Sansa brought her hand to his face, tracing his goatee with her thumb.  The tightness of his cheek eased at her touch, and she knew her effect was calming him.  Sansa kept his gaze, as she let her thumb dare to get closer to his lips, her voice low as she asked, “Of?”  

As if in a trance, he answered absently, “Cersei.”  

The blond laughed, “Worried I’ll steal your wife?”  

“At times.”  He chuckled, “Neither of you are ever in a room together, and not side by side.”  

Though she was still facing them, Cersei’s eyes moved, tracking something, as she said, “Friendships can be vital.”  

Sansa followed her line of sight to see Margaery, walking away from Joffrey with a drink in her hand.  All this time, Sansa had been trying to angle and maneuver the Lannister to catch a glimpse of the whore soliciting her eldest son.  All this time she acted as if she hadn’t noticed, only to find out that she had.  Cersei was reckless and entertaining, but her and Jaime hadn’t maintained their position by having a blind eye.

Changing the subject, Cersei turned to Sansa, and held out a purple box.  Sansa accepted it and glanced up at Petyr, who was eyeing the silver scrawling across the top.  It read: _Booty Bling._  Sansa watched him roll his eyes, then focused back on the box, opening it.  A large, diamond-looking gem, about the size of a golf-ball sparkled back at her.  Confused, Sansa looked up, glancing at Petyr who shook his head.  Cersei grinned, like the cat who ate the canary, and sipped her wine, not explaining a thing.  Sansa played along, “Thanks, Cers.”

Petyr reached into the box, and plucked the gem from the purple felt padding, exposing a rounded metal nub behind it.  He wore a grin that didn’t reach his eyes as he said, “If you’re buying my wife butt plugs, perhaps I really _should_ be jealous.”

Cersei teased, “I prefer ‘Anal-Accessories,’ and there’s nothing wrong with wanting to make sure your ass looks good.”  

Sansa felt him shift against her shoulder and knew he wasn’t a fan of Cersei’s particular sense of humor, but put up with their familiarity.  He then dropped his palm and grabbed a handful of her ass, offering the Lannister his own familiarity with his wife as he said, “It’s perfect.”  

“Get it, Baelish!” Tyrion raised his voice from a distance, smiling as he approached with Jaime.  As he got closer, he lowered his voice. “I had no idea it would be _this_ kind of event.  How _scandalous,_ ” he hissed with a deviant smirk.

Jaime wrapped his arm around Cersei and laughed, “What are you talking about?  You’ve already banged one chick in the coat-check room and the party’s not even half over.”  

Tyrion was legendary for his way with women.  Petyr let his hand linger on Sansa a moment longer, his thumb rubbing back and forth a couple of times, before he slid up to the small of her back.  Tyrion gave an unapologetic shrug as he said, “What can I say? When the opportunity presents itself…”

Jaime chuckled and looked at the box in Sansa’s hand, “Oh, come now, Cersei.  Give the new parents the real gift.  They’ll have six weeks of snatch-recovery to explore more assplay.”  

Tyrion piped up, “Oh!  You gave that to Sansa?  I thought it was for Baelish!”  

Petyr smiled at the joke, though clearly not amused over the idea of a glittery ass-crack.  Both Lannister men roared in laughter, while Cersei reflexively glared at Tyrion, resuming her disdain from before.  Sansa appeared mildly amused, before Cersei motioned for Myrcella to come over.  The beautiful girl, a perfect genetic blend of both Jaime and Cersei, came over carrying a bag with a giant baby rattle on it.  

Sansa quickly closed the “Booty-Bling” box, handing it to Petyr, to accept the gift bag from the girl.  Myrcella smiled anxiously, “Hey Sansa,” She glanced over to Petyr and nodded her head, “Mr. Baelish.”

Petyr nodded back with a polite smile, “Myrcella.”

Cersei beamed proudly, “Myrcella made it.”

Sansa opened the bag and pulled out a folded up quilt.  It was soft and well-made, each stitch uniform.  The theme was ‘The Lion King’, and had a large picture of Simba in the center, and a large picture of Nala on the reverse side.  Myrcella shook her head, “I didn’t. Mom helped correct my stitching a lot.”

“Don’t look so surprised, I do have some skills, Little Dove.  Besides, it was a great opportunity to teach Myrcella.”  Cersei smiled at Sansa.  

Jaime let a hand glide over his wife’s flat stomach and spoke proudly to her, “You always got extra domestic in the final months before each child was born. Learning and perfecting a different craft each time.  It was beautiful to watch you nest.”

Cersei’s grin softened  as she basked in her husband’s praise.  She reached one hand forward, gripping Jaime’s belt, letting her fingers slide further down the front of his pants than necessary.  “You always became so protective of me.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes, before looking around the room, and smiling wide as he teased, “Hey, Cersei, did you happen to notice that Margaery is here?”

Cersei whipped around, about to tear him to pieces before Jaime turned her head back to lock his eyes with hers.  Myrcella scolded Tyrion, “That wasn’t nice, Uncle.”  

Sansa just barely caught  Jaime’s voice, as he whispered hypnotically to Cersei, “Ignore him.  We’re starting something here…”  

Petyr’s hand traveled to Sansa’s belly.  Satisfied with the strong kick he felt, he barely looked up when Jaime spoke to him abruptly.  “Congratulations, Baelishes.  I feel like I’m about to get laid, so we’re leaving now.”

“Dad!”  Myrcella’s face turned crimson.  

Cersei nuzzled into Jaime’s neck as she spoke to her daughter, “Round up your brothers.”

Tyrion shook his head, “It’s disrespectful not to acknowledge another family.  Need I remind you that the Tyrells are here?”  

Jaime sighed, considering his brother’s advice, as his wife tempted his baser needs.  Before he could respond, Cersei shot back, “And it’s rude to cock-block.”  Cersei turned to face Sansa, “You’re welcome.  And thank you for fucking with me.  You know--how I needed.”

“I thought it was me that you needed to fuck you.”  Jaime laughed.  

Cersei frowned, “We were leaving? Before I change my mind.”

Sansa nodded her head politely to the Lannisters, catching Myrcella’s forearm to stop her for a moment.  She leaned forward, away from Petyr and spoke with the utmost sincerity, “Thank you, Myrcella.”  The innocent smile she gave back to Sansa was reminiscent of the moment they shared in the locker room, and Sansa instantly wanted to give her something to be proud of.  “The effort you put into this gift speaks volumes of the effort you put into the bond between our families.”  Sansa held the quilt close to herself as she felt Petyr regain his place against her.  

Though he spoke to all of the Lannisters before him, he took care to address Myrcella more so, “Gifts given in respect are treated with respect.  We will cherish this, as we do our families’  connection.”  

Jaime and Cersei had turned to watch.  Both nodded their heads in approval of the way the Baelishes conducted themselves with their daughter, and Myrcella’s smile contained the fresh hint of pride Sansa was aiming for.  Tyrion nodded back, “Congratulations.  God help us if she is as beautiful as her mother, and as like-minded as her father.”  Before anything else could be said, he turned and trailed behind them, as they exited.

Petyr’s voice was soft as he whispered, “I had no idea you were so fond of the girl.”  

Sansa watched Myrcella motion for her brothers to follow, and then turned to kiss Petyr’s cheek.  “Myrcella will be to our daughter what Cersei is to me.  Strengthening the bond between her and our child is the smart play.”  

He lifted the box containing the butt plug and chuckled, “You would make her this?  To our daughter?”  

“No.”  Sansa shook her head.  She braced herself for disagreement, as she said, “I would make her godmother to our daughter.”  

She waited for him to point out the obvious: what about Arya?  He didn’t.  Perhaps he knew that in regards to the serious duties of a godparent, Myrcella would never be expected, or legally authorized to follow through.  This was purely a demonstration of devotion and respect amongst their families. Sansa had no idea how she would broach the subject with her sister, and knew it could very well go nuclear, but this was just business.  When he leaned forward to kiss her, she felt his approval in each motion of their lips.  

They were still lip-locked, when there was a small cough, drawing their attention to a figure in front of them: Rickon.  Sansa barely contained the screech that begged to burst out, as she threw her arms around him.  The phone did not do his voice justice, and it had deepened since the last time they talked.  “Wow, Sansa, you’ve gotten big.”  

“That’s ‘cause she’s growing a person, genius.”  Arya approached, with Gendry trailing behind her, who smiled as he rested his hands on her shoulders.  

“Yeah, I get that.  But, whoa,” said Rickon, pointing at Sansa’s baby bump.  

Sansa was embarrassed to feel tears come to her eyes at the sight of him.  “I had no idea you were coming!  How?”  

Rickon smiled, and motioned towards Petyr, who clasped a hand to the back of his neck and offered her a boyish grin.  He looked decades younger in that moment, having been caught surprising his wife with her baby brother.  Sansa wrapped her arm around his waist and gave him an appreciative peck on the cheek, before she settled her eyes back on the youngest Stark.  “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I hope you still feel that way after I give you this.”  Rickon looked nervous, as he handed over a brown paper-wrapped parcel that had been shipped from overseas.  Upon closer inspection, it was from the same place that Robb and Talisa’s gift came from.  They had sent her a crate of cloth diapers and literature on breastfeeding, something that Sansa was still on the fence about.  This, however, was not that big, nor did it have either of their names on it.  

Petyr took the package from her suspiciously, noting that it did not have a return name or address,  pulled out his knife to open it, and then stopped himself.  He raised his hand and motioned for Jon and Ygritte to come over.  As soon as Jon was in eyesight of Rickon, he smiled wide and expressed his excitement to see him.  His enthusiasm was cut short, however, when Petyr instructed him to open the package.  Petyr pulled Sansa close and made motions to take a step back.  Rickon laughed, “It’s not a bomb. I already opened it to see what I was agreeing to do.”  

Arya asked, before Sansa could, “What are you saying?”  

Jon unfolded the flaps of the box and pulled out a flashlight with a note stuck to it with a rubber band.  Rickon answered, “He’s still our brother.”

Petyr took the flashlight from Jon before Sansa could, inspecting it closely.  He pulled the note free and had opened it to read it, before Sansa plucked it out of his hand.  Her eyes flew over the page, darting over each word as quickly as possible, before she started at the beginning and read it over again.

_At this far along, the baby will move for the flashlight, if you put it on your belly.  Still don’t know if it’s running to the light or from it, but whatever, it’s fun.  My old girl and I used to do this all the time, and it was cool.  I’m still sober, if that’s what you’re wondering.  And it’s because I want to be.  So don’t take any pride or ownership over my recovery.  I hope I can forgive you one day, cause I’d like to meet my niece.  But until then, if you send me pictures, I’ll send letters._

Once again, tears welled in her eyes.  Sansa pictured Bran writing this, mixed up in his conflicting emotions, and wished she could hold him close.  She took a deep breath and told herself, _He’s sober._  Arya gestured to the note, silently asking to read it, starved for word from her brother as well.  Sansa saw no reason not to share it, so she handed it to her, and watched as her man massaged her shoulders.  The way Arya coughed told Sansa she had been similarly affected.  “Well, at least the little shit’s nose is clean.”  

“Indeed,” Petyr agreed, as he accepted the note back from her, sticking it under the rubber band still wrapped around the flashlight.  In the same hand, he held both the butt-bling and the flashlight, and Sansa wondered if he’d run out of hands to hold things soon.  Sansa swallowed back the lump in her throat, and blinked her eyes free of the tears that threatened to break free.

Rickon apologized, “I’m sorry, Sansa.  I just thought, he’s our brother, and he’s trying.  Kinda.”  

“You did the right thing,”  she assured him.  

There was an awkward silence amongst them for a moment, and just as Gendry was about to fill it with some anecdote, as he was known to do, Rickon piped up.  “So, since I don’t know much about babies, my gift is more for you guys.”  

Sansa looked at Petyr, who glanced down to the anal plug in his hand.  She stifled a laugh as she asked, “Oh?”  

Rickon held up his cellphone and handed it to Sansa.  The screen contained an image of their blank half-finished nursery.  “I got you a baby-cam and made the video feed, so that you can access it remotely from your phone.”  He tapped the screen and the picture changed to their living room.  “You can even jump between cameras.  I got a second one to put in your living room, so you could watch the kiddo even when you’re going to the bathroom real quick or whatever.  Eyes on, all the time.”  

“Eyes on, all the time?”  Petyr reached for the phone, his eyes studying the screen intently as he asked, “Can you switch between any more cameras?”  

“Oh yeah, totally.  As many as you want.”  Rickon smiled proudly.  “If you let me see your phones for a minute, I can program them each to access it.”  

Without hesitation, Petyr dug his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Rickon.  Before either of them could say a word to each other, Sansa interjected, “Who put cameras in our home?”  

Jon raised his hand with a guilty smirk on his face.  Ygritte smiled unabashedly and slapped at his chest, playfully chastising him for his sneakiness.  Sansa smiled at their interchange, though still feeling somewhat irked over their closeness, as she asked, “Without anyone knowing?”  She turned back to Petyr who shrugged, not-so-innocently.

As if he didn’t see the small Starkfamily get-together in the center of the baby shower, he inserted himself between Sansa and Arya.  Olyvar stood awkwardly beside him, and Margaery not far from either.  Loras smiled wide. “It’s been a beautiful party, Shortcake!  We’re headed home; Margaery is pouting.”  

Margaery flashed them an apologetic grin, “And Loras has lost count of his drinks again.”  

“That’s why I have Olly.  Right Olly?”  Loras glanced over, smiling as Olyvar nodded back.

“Regardless, we really must be going.  Thank you for having us.”  Margaery flashed another grin, and then proceeded to drag her brother away towards the door.  

Loras laughed as he called back, “See you later, Shortcake. And you’re welcome!” He turned to Margaery and spoke loud enough to be heard, “What? I won at presents!”  

The rest of the Starks looked back at Sansa and Petyr, unsure of what to say in response to the Tyrell trainwreck.  Arya was the first to speak, “His hangover is gonna _blow_ tomorrow.”  

Sansa let a small laugh escape at the absurdity of the situation, but let it fade when she saw Varys coming their way.  He did not come bearing gifts like the others who approached them throughout the night, as he had given his to them already.  It was an early acceptance letter of admission into the best preschool in the city, folded neatly into a plain white envelope. Varys had a knack for flair, but understood the art of subtlety and its desired impact.

He smiled at the Starks politely, “I assume you’ve all given your gifts?”  They all nodded back at him, satisfied with themselves and the gifts given.  Sansa held up the Lion King quilt for him to see. He gave a look of mild disgust as he scolded Sansa, “This is what you get for not picking a theme. The Lion King _?_   _Really._ ”  He then turned all of his attention to Petyr, having known what Rickon’s gift was. “I have already ordered an additional camera for your bedroom.”  

Sansa’s family looked mortified by the suggestion of a camera in her bedroom.  Well, everyone but Arya. She was good like that. Sansa laughed, “For the baby.  Right, Petyr?”  

He paused longer than would give credit to her statement, before agreeing, “Yes, we will have the baby in our bedroom, until it is ready to transition to its own.”  He glanced at Varys, “Thank you.”  

Varys nodded.  

Sansa saw Ygritte’s hands moving and looked up to read her.  She was asking what they were going to name their daughter, something they were still on the fence about.  Neither of them had settled on anything in particular, but Sansa was growing partial to Ruby, a silent tribute to July.  Petyr disagreed, telling her that no more tributes were necessary, and that Ruby was a cocktail waitress’s name, or a failed actress, possibly both. Not a name befitting the daughter of Petyr and Sansa Baelish. His suggestion was not much better: Rio, after some woman in a song by his favorite band.  Needless to say, they were still at the drawing board in the name department for the moment, and Sansa told Ygritte as much.  

When the opportunity presented itself, Varys turned to Sansa in private. “Thank you for arranging a moment of privacy earlier.”  

Keeping a modest exterior, Sansa smiled. Petyr kissed her temple approvingly, letting on  how much he’d been listening in. Then he grinned, “She’s such a _romantic_.”          


	33. What Will Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I only need the two of you. The rest is extra.

“What did she say?”  Petyr asked into the phone held in the crook of his neck, as he flipped through photos, paying little to no attention to the woman in front of him.  

Sansa’s voice contained her frustration as she answered, “Nothing. That’s the point.”  

The woman, Shae, had an eye for angle, and the clarity of the close up was unbelievable.  He would tell her so if he weren’t otherwise engaged, though she seemed to care little for either his praise or what attention he wasn’t paying her.  It was very unlike others when ignored.  They would shift uncomfortably, clear their throat, stare at the clock, or exit.  Their bodies moved unconsciously, trying to remind him that they were there, as if he may have forgotten.  Not likely.  

Shae, however, did not.  She stood firm, as if she were a statue sculpted in place, unmoving.  Yet, he could tell by the fluidity of her gait upon entry that she was quite mobile.  He could see now why Sansa prefered her; she wasn’t your typical hire.  Petyr had his people for these things, had established his connections well before Sansa had ever considered regaining her place.  He had always been confident that his choices would be the better ones simply because he’d had more time to piece out who was the best for what and how to own each of them.

But Sansa had suggested Shae, and Petyr felt a duty to his wife to give the private investigator a shot.  If Sansa would never get the satisfaction of injecting antifreeze in Margaery’s neck or putting a bullet through her skull herself, then he would help her feel included in as many steps of the way as their plan would allow.  If using Shae would help his wife feel more involved, then so be it. 

“That was to be expected.”  It was.  Sansa had known from the moment she decided to make Myrcella the godmother that Arya would feel wounded.  Petyr knew the sinewy sister would feel as though Sansa chose business over family, not understanding how closely those things were now linked.  Sansa had made the right call, and he would give her his full support for it.  What he wouldn’t do was patronize her by acting as if Arya’s response was a surprise or anything more than it was.

“You’re watching what you’re saying.”  He could hear the knowing smirk in Sansa’s voice.  

Petyr glanced up at Shae, her expression indecipherable, as he straightened out the photographs and slid them back into the envelope.  “Yes.”  

“Someone’s with you.  You wouldn’t bother being so discreet if it was Olyvar you were meeting with.”  She puzzled over the phone, “Or would you?”  

Petyr didn’t respond, sealing the envelope.  “You can be a private man in front of people who matter, or people who you haven’t decided matter yet.  But in our circle, you don’t care who sees you love me, which tells me that you’re still on the fence about Olyvar.”  

Yes.  Of course.  So what if he was fucking Varys?  And so what if Varys appeared to be the happiest he had in years?  Emotions clouded, and just as Varys had been cautious of Sansa, Petyr was still careful around Olyvar.  He hadn’t yet proven himself.  Olyvar had been Renly and Loras’ third-wheel for a while, so getting close to Loras wasn’t exactly an impossible challenge, and he hadn’t been asked to do much more than he was already willing to.  So far, Petyr wasn’t overly impressed.  He held the phone to his ear as he said, “Or it isn’t him.” 

“Oh.”  Sansa regrouped.  And then her voice brightened, “You’re meeting with Shae.”  

“Yes.”  Petyr admitted, hiding his own smile.  He loved listening to her reason things out and switch from one conclusion to the next plausible.  

“How are the photos?”  

“Skilled.”  And insufficient.

Sansa chuckled, “You should see the ones she took of you.”  He had never actually seen them.  It had been a couple of years since Sansa had sicced the P.I. on him.  The gesture was nothing short of flattering then, and memory alone of it stirred things in him.  His heart rate sped up thinking of it as Sansa said, “Well, then.  I’ll leave you to it.  Be home in time for our show?  And call before you leave work, give me a heads up.”  

That certainly got his attention.  Before he could respond, she insisted, “Don’t surprise me this time.”  

He wanted to tell her no.  Or at the very least, discover why she suddenly needed warning before he got home.  What was she hiding?  None of that would do with Shae standing in front of him, so he simply answered, “Yes.”  

“Thank you.  I can’t wait till you get home.  It’s the season finale tonight, don’t forget.”  Sansa smiled over the phone before hanging up.  Petyr listened to the ring tone and found himself replaying their conversation, trying to determine if there was something he missed.  He took a breath and reminded himself that Sansa did like her surprises.

Petyr set his phone on his desk and looked up at Shae, “These will not do.”

Finally emoting, just the slightest, she scoffed, “They are perfect, and will more than do.”

“Do for who?  You?”  Petyr shrugged his smirk.  “You shouldn’t assume just because you can focus a lens that you can also decide what’s adequate.”  He had to knock her down a peg if he’d be using her services in the future.  Independent contractors were too  _ independent. _  “When Tyrion asked you to take pictures of his nephew, how did he look?”  

“He contracted me through my website.  He did not give his picture, only the target’s.”  Shae’s tone remained even and her face placid.  She had clearly learned from her moment of weakness and was not about to share her reactions again.  

Petyr smiled, as he realized the woman had never met Tyrion in person before.  She would be in for a treat.  “So then, how do you know what will do for him?  The person purchasing them?  Did he say specifically what he was looking for?  What exactly did he say?”  

If he had expected her to stutter, he was mistaken.  Shae pulled out her phone and read aloud, “The client would like you to photograph him whenever he is with a woman to prove his sexual prowess.  Please do so discreetly--he’s not open about his narcissism.  Meet me at Blackwater Bay, so that I may compensate you accordingly.”  

So much for the drunken fool facade.  Petyr stifled a snicker at Tyrion’s choice of words and found that even with the Lannister’s more formal tone, came his trademark humor. The message confirmed what Petyr already knew about Tyrion: though he may be Jaime’s brother, and have quite the playboy reputation, the little man’s brain fired on all cylinders.  He knew how to conduct himself, when it came to business with strangers.  Petyr stared back at Shae, “Sex.  You caught Joffrey and Margaery together at Starfall.  Anyone could shoot that with their cellphone on the dancefloor.  Clubs aren’t exactly private.” 

“If they are willing to be seen out in the open like that, they are fucking.”  

“Obviously.”  Petyr handed her the envelope.  “But he contracted you to capture them fucking.  So, go back.  Snap some pics of them screwing in the Rose Room.  That’s what he wants.  That’s what will do for him.  And your loyalty in following direction will do for me.” 

She held her chin up as she spoke, “I am loyal to no one.”  

“Yet you jump when my wife calls.”  Petyr couldn’t resist pointing it out.  

“She did not call me.”  

“No. I did.”  Petyr eyed her, looking for any tell her poker face might have.  “And you answered the phone.  Either you are more loyal than you think, and lean towards Baelishes.   _ Or _ you need the cash, and come running whenever anyone calls.”  

She crossed her arms, “ _ Now _ who is assuming?” 

“Paying attention.  And planning to pay you some more.”  Petyr moved from behind his desk.  “I hired you to take a job from Tyrion, and then I pointed him in your direction.  I wouldn’t want you to forget who you are working for.” 

She turned, stepping towards the door.  “I remember who pays and who does not.”  

“So it is the money, and not my wife’s shining personality.”  Petyr teased.  

“It’s always about the money.”  

Petyr grinned, “It’s only the people without it that say that.”  

She eyed him up and down, “And it’s always those with money that think they’re above it.”  

Petyr said nothing as she left his office.  He would allow her the last word this time because, like the rich man he was, he  _ was _ above some things.  He hadn’t always had money though, and he knew quite well what it was like to be ruled by it.  He didn’t fool himself for a moment to think that it didn’t still tug at his world’s rotation.  Though, it was Sansa that now sat at the center of his universe, holding him with her gravitational pull.

He stood in his doorway for a moment, pulling the phone from his pocket.  He was about to call Sansa and tell her that was on his way, when he got a better idea.  The cameras had been up for two weeks, and he was finding himself using them more and more.  Rickon was a certified genius, and any doubt Petyr had as to whether or not to use his brain and his skills was alleviated when Sansa herself gave him a job after the baby shower.  

When Loras let slip that perhaps Olenna was not as senile as they’d claimed, Petyr and Sansa decided that it was time to verify once and for all.  And to ensure that they could put this nagging suspicion to rest, they decided to make it a two-part investigation.  Petyr sent Olyvar to feel out Loras in one of his weaker, more inebriated moments, and manipulate a visit to the home, so that he could lay eyes on her himself, and report back to Petyr.  

Sansa was, of course, agreeable to the plan.  She surprised him, however, when she handed him Bran’s flashlight.  Petyr looked down at it, and the pouty letter (the young-adult equivalent of a foot-stomping trudge to one's bedroom without supper) still rubber banded to it.  He listened as Sansa directed, “Rickon will look into her medical records as well.”  

He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.  He would have wondered what had changed her mind about letting the youngest Stark work for them, if he wasn’t holding it in his hand.  Bran.  Brandon Stark was a card that, when played against Sansa, could provoke a wide variety of outcomes.  They ranged from mild responses to more severe ones, and no one, including Petyr, was ever sure which one you would get.  He nodded his head in agreement, only asking, “Shall I tell him, or will you?”  

Sansa kissed his cheek, smiling for all the party-goers as she answered, “I will.  It was my decision.” 

People didn’t decline the Baelishes’ jobs, and Rickon wouldn’t disregard Sansa’s wishes.  Whatever weakness she had for her family, young Rickon had it in droves.  The boy only ever wanted to make those in his family happy, always flinging himself between two warring wolves, a willing casualty of their snapping and clawing.  He truly was willing to do anything, a trait that would be very useful as time went on.    

Petyr clicked through the files on his phone, and pulled up the view he had of their living room, finding it empty.  He then clicked over to their bedroom, and was pleased to see Sansa laying in bed.  She wasn’t sleeping, and appeared to be holding something to her face.  Petyr watched one hand rub her belly, as she rolled over to her other side, revealing the phone against her ear.

He almost texted her to ask who she was talking to, but remembered that she didn’t know he was watching.  Sansa liked the attention, but perhaps not like this.  Something about the fact that it was not sexual in nature made it more intimate, more private.  It was like he was reading her diary, to see her in the everyday, the moments when she thought she was truly alone.  She knew the cameras were there and she knew that he could access them.  She even knew that he would, but she didn’t know when.  There was no way for her to prepare for him.  She would want to prepare, be in the right mood, want him to watch.  

Petyr hung his head, feeling a tinge of shame creep in.   Though he knew he should stop, he couldn’t bring himself to look away.  His girls were right before his eyes, happy and healthy, and waiting for him.  He wondered if Sansa was working or talking to family.  He knew that Arya wasn’t talking to her, but that didn’t mean that the other Starks weren’t.  When one was hurt, they all tended to circle, sticking together with their pack-like mentality.

Perhaps it was business.  She did originally think he was talking to Olyvar.  Clearly her mind was in business.  But then again she started the conversation talking about family.  It was enough to do his head in, trying to read her mind.  If he could, though, he most definitely would.  Whatever resistance he fooled himself into thinking he put up against watching the video feed, would slip away should he ever be given the opportunity to read her thoughts.  He was ready to go home to her.  The meeting with Olyvar had finished before Shae arrived, leaving business concluded for the evening.

Except that it apparently wasn’t.  Petyr looked up at Varys, suddenly standing before him, in the doorway.  “I need a moment of your time.”  

“I’ve already spoken to Olyvar.”  Petyr fought the groan that he felt over being stalled.

Varys shook his head.  “It isn’t about him.”  

Petyr peered down at his phone again, catching another quick glimpse of Sansa before he exited out of the screen and put his phone in his pocket.  “This had better be good, Varys.”  

“Useful.”  Varys turned and called down the hall, “Come in, Ros.”  

Ros?  He knew that he shouldn’t be that surprised, the cleaning lady-turned-whore had been quite helpful, since her change in career.  She took on more of a leadership role with the other girls, kept her nose clean, and Sansa seemed to appreciate her.  She probably deserved more notice from him than he gave, especially after that incident in the bathroom, with that bottle blond Sansa made an example of.  His mouth twitched in the memory of his wife’s dominance.  

Ros wore a robe over her costume, and kept her hair up in pins, to give it a curl before she hit the stage.  Her look was serious, as she stepped into the office, her slippers muffling the sound of her steps.  Petyr leaned against his desk, and hid the look of annoyance he wanted to assail her with, as he asked, “Yes?”  

“You said that I should come to you, if I ever see something, or hear something that has to do with a different family.”  She was less squirrely than he’d seen her before, but nervous regardless.  

He nodded, intrigued to learn what she had found out.  Sometimes things his girls spied were useless, other times, they were just the tid bit of information he needed.  With Varys serving her up to him, it was more likely that what she had something juicy.  

She sat on his sofa and took a deep breath.  “It’s about that Lannister that comes in, Lancel.”  

At full attention, Petyr stood up from his perch on the edge of his desk and moved to sit beside her on the couch.  “I’m listening.”

“He comes around a lot, pays for a lot of girls.”  Ros started.  “He’s a bit of a talker, you know?  Always has something to say to try to impress us.  As if he has to, you know?  As if he hasn’t been paying for us right along.”  

Petyr was familiar with this type of customer.  They appreciated the fantasy their mind could build around a beautiful woman grinding on their lap.  They were the type of men who liked to pretend that the woman they chose danced only for them, even though they did so in a room full of strangers, and accepted anybody’s singles.  Men like Lancel bought time, wanting to pretend that a beautiful girl followed them to the VIP room of their own choosing.  Money exchanged was just a small part of their story together.  Petyr never took issue with these types of customers, because they were some of the best-paying.  

They would cough up a lot of cash to keep their fantasy going, extending their lap-time, repeating their visits.  It was always extremely profitable if one might become obsessed with a girl.  Petyr could milk a lot of money from them before he had to have their legs broken.  It would be more costly later, if Petyr didn’t remind people not to trouble Littlefinger’s girls.  The downside to customers like this was not in the eventual need for crutches, but instead, that they couldn’t keep their mouths from running.  Always fucking talking.  Petyr often wondered what was harder for the women in his employ, degrading themselves for perfect strangers, or having to appear interested in whatever pathetic story they told them.  

Seeing the irritated expression on Ros’ face, Petyr knew which it would be for her.  He would have Sansa to thank for that.  If his wife hadn’t broken the girl on the pole in their bedroom, he wasn’t sure that she’d be tough enough to handle this line of work.  Looking at her now, she could more than handle herself.  Though, through the annoyance, she was able to pull out some useful information for him, and he couldn’t wait to find out what it was.  “What did he say, Ros?” 

“He just kept telling us how important he is.  How connected.  One time he pointed around the room and said, ‘I could have anybody in here killed.’  He said that’s how powerful he was.”  

Not quite.  Lancel was not that powerful.  No one was that powerful.  Not to start, anyway.  If that were true, Petyr would have killed Lancel months ago, without fear of repercussion.  It was true that Lancel was connected, and that his family would work to clean up any mess he created.  But that was not the same thing as ordering a hit on anyone.  “I’m sure by now you’re used to seeing men puff out their chests.”  

“Yeah, but this was more than that.”  Ros shook her head.  

Petyr remained motionless, waiting for her to continue.  

“He said that he’d done someone.  Someone important.  Recently.”  Ros’ eyes grew wide as she anticipated Petyr’s reaction.  

_ That depends on how you define ‘important.’   _ Petyr thought to himself as he recalled the last person he knew of that Lancel killed.  It was one of Jaime’s lawyers, and Petyr was rather certain that Kevan had done the majority of the work.  Killing a lawyer stupid enough to lose a case for the Lannisters was a far cry from an important job.  Family members went to jail every day; a lawyer’s failure to keep even a low level Lannister out would suffer fatal consequences.  This was not important, or even rare.  

Varys spoke from the door, “He’s boasting about having killed someone important.  I thought it might be useful to know.”  

Suddenly, a light bulb lit in Petyr’s brain, as he realized what his old friend had given him: a way to kill Lancel  _ and  _ get away with it!  If he played it right, it could add fuel to the fire of the Lannister’s hatred of the Tyrells.  This was too good.

“Do you think you can steer the conversation?”  Petyr turned back to Ros.  

She offered a slight shrug, “Sure.  Talkers are easily swayed.  They will say whatever they think impresses us.”  

“Good.  Do you remember Renly Tyrell?”  

“Yes.”  She didn’t seem affected in any way at mention of the fallen Tyrell.   

“Someone very important, who’s died recently.  Lancel should know how impressive it would be to be responsible for that.”  Petyr worked to hide his smile as he pictured the scene unfolding. 

Ros blinked a couple of times and then nodded her head.  “I understand.”  

“Good.  You’re a good worker, Ros.  I think it might be time for a promotion, don’t you?”  Petyr smiled at her to offer encouragement.  

Again, careful not to say anything he may not like, she nodded her head slowly.  

“Good.  I’ve been considering whether or not to create a lead hostess position to assist with client relations.  Of course, the girl that takes that position will have to have a way with our customers, demonstrating that she is capable of bending their ear when necessary.”  Petyr rose from the couch, motioning for her to rise as well.

As she stood, she asked, “Hostess?”  

He couldn’t fault her for her doubt.  Unveiled hadn’t had a hostess before, not a proper one anyway.  Varys may not have stood at the door and welcomed patrons, but he did run things behind the scenes and made sure their customers were taken care of.  This position would be a bit more regular and public, her standing out on the floor.  “Mmhmm.”  

“No more stripping?  No more johns?”  She asked in uncertainty.  

He saw no point in lying to her.  “Not typically, no.  But Ros, you know, for the right price... everyone’s for sale.”  

“Just the big-spenders?”  Ros asked as Petyr turned her towards the door.  

“Mmhmm.”  Petyr smiled as he started to walk her to the door.  He glanced back down at his watch, wanting to get home on time.

“Oh, wait!”  She turned quickly, and pulled out a small bakery bag from the pocket of her robe.  “Please give this to Sansa.”  

Petyr took it from her, inspecting it.  “What is it?”  

“Lemon loaf.  She loves it, but Highgarden never seems to have it anymore.  So from time to time, I hook her up with slices from the coffee shop near home.”  Ros smiled proudly.  

Petyr glanced over to Varys.  The bald man rolled his eyes and scooted her along, “Come, Ros.  We must be going.”  

“Thank you.  It’s kind of you to think of Sansa.”  Petyr said appreciatively as Ros walked toward the door.    

Ros smiled wide and replied, “Anything I can do.  I am grateful to be working for this family over any other.”  

“Oh?”  Petyr pulled a curious smile.  The woman had already successfully sucked up, offering both information and baked goods.  Her last comment would be overboard, if she did not truly feel that way.

Nodding her head, she explained, “This half of the city is cleaner, safer, and more profitable.  Everyone loves you, and I get to say that I work for the Baelishes, proudly.”  

Varys raised his chin in his own pride, knowing how big of a hand he had in how things ran.  Petyr smiled at his friend, expressing gratitude. 

Offering her a small compliment to reciprocate, Petyr said, “You’ve come a long way, Ros.  You’re a favorite of Sansa’s and I am more and more impressed with your...”  He raised the hand holding the baked good, “...ambition.”  

As Varys lead her out, Petyr stared down at the bag in his hand.  Sansa had never said anything about her secret lemon loaf hook up.  She must have suspected that he had some part to play in its disappearance from her life, but she never called him on it.

Petyr left out the back entrance, wanting to avoid anyone else that may be vying for his attention, and hopped in his car.  He started the engine and reflexively pulled out his phone to check on Sansa again.  She wasn’t on any screen and he found himself cycling through the same three cameras looking for her.  Finally, he caught a glimpse of her walking through the living room and smiled.  

She had said that she wanted notice before he got home.  And he promised he would give it to her.  But he did not say how much notice.  Petyr put his car in gear and started home.  When he was about halfway there, he pulled up her contact and called her.  

He watched her raise the phone to her ear.  “How did it go with Shae?”  

“Alright.”  

“You don’t like her.” 

Petyr smiled, “I never said that.”  

“And you never said you did, either.”  Sansa smiled into the phone.  

“Do I usually?”  Petyr teased.  

Sansa chuckled into the phone.  “Why am I on speaker?”  

Petyr shifted gears and accelerated, “Because I’m driving.  Home.”  

She shot up off the couch, “How far away are you?”  

“I couldn’t guess.”  Petyr had purposely avoided looking at mile markers so that he could honestly deny knowledge of how far away he was.  He could estimate, obviously, but hoped that she wouldn’t specify that.  

“You’re terrible.”  She scurried off screen, “I gotta go.”  

“Where?”  Petyr felt torn between enjoying watching her run around feverishly and wanting desperately to know what she was up to.  

The dial tone was her only response.  He watched her charge into their bedroom and toss her phone on the bed.  Petyr had to remind himself to pay attention to the road, as he was just too captivated by the activity on his phone.  

He had almost missed the exit, as he watched her pull open drawers of her bureau and grab clothes.  Was she changing?  Why would she change?  Petyr licked his lips, as he wondered if it might be something naughty for him.  It had been a couple of days since he’d been able to properly see her in all her glory, let alone with some window dressing.  

She threw her hair up in a clip and stripped down bare, tossing her clothes in the laundry.  Petyr almost hit the car in front of him, jamming on his brakes.  He felt like a sixteen year old, spying on a naked girl through her bedroom window.  First a diary-reader, now a peeping tom.  Was there no end to the depth of his depravity?  The thrill of it made his palms sweaty, as he gripped the steering wheel, and he reminded himself that if he were to get into a car accident, they would recover his phone and see the last thing he was doing on it.  

Would Sansa visit him in the hospital if she knew he was creeping on her this way?  It was Sansa, so probably.  But she may still be cross about it.  He glanced back at the screen - she was nowhere in sight.  As he turned onto his private drive, he clicked through the cameras again.  This was maddening.  They needed more cameras linked.  Three rooms, one of which she had no reason to enter, was not enough.  

Petyr killed his lights as he pulled into his driveway, wishing he had taken a quieter car.  Damn his love for V8s!  He shoved his phone in his pocket and snuck through the entryway, slipping his shoes off and carefully setting his keys and wallet on the decorative dish Sansa insisted he use.  He did a sweep of all the communal rooms before heading towards his bedroom.  

It was as he opened his door that he heard the shower running.  Slowly he crept in, pleased to catch her naked under the steady stream of water that steamed up the glass.  She was standing back-to, one leg propped up on the built in bench and she was looking down, focused on something.  Petyr was careful to remain silent as he undid his belt buckle and watched her arm move back and forth.

“Damn!”  She cursed to herself as he slid his pants off, letting them pool on the floor.  

Her arm set about its work again as he pulled his shirt off and slid a finger in his socks to peel them off.  He listened to her cuss a few more times, before he casually asked, “Problems?”  

She startled, and whipped her head around to see him.  “Petyr!”  

He wasn’t quite sure what he caught her in, but he was glad that he had.  She truly did not look as though she wanted him to see her that way.  It only made him certain that he wanted to know what she was hiding from him, all the more.  He stepped into the shower with her, and set a hand on her hip as he kissed her shoulder.  “Anything I can help with?”  

She shook her head.  Was that embarrassment in her eyes?  Sansa had nothing to be embarrassed about, least of all being caught rubbing one out, if that  _ is _ what she was doing.  He brought his other hand to her belly, pressing himself against her, holding her close, as he spoke into her neck, “Are you sure about that?  I like to be helpful.”  He let the hand on her hip slip under her belly to inspect, and heard her wince.  His hand recoiled instantly, pulling from her, “What’s wrong?”  

Sansa stood silent, eyes closed.  Petyr looked down at his hand and saw blood on his fingertips, “Sansa.”  

She groaned, “I can’t see what I’m doing.”  

“What?”  

Petyr watched her lift her arm away, a shaver in her hand.  He stared back at her, red-cheeked and mortified, and gradually came to the realization of what she was doing.  “You were trying to shave?”  

She nodded.  

“For me?”  Petyr grinned.  

Sansa sighed, “No, for my bikini.  Of course you.”  

Petyr was touched.  He obviously knew that she maintained herself for him.  He would be lying if he denied his careful attention to his own grooming wasn’t more for her as well.  Though, seeing how she struggled at it now made it more meaningful.  “Why the rush to shave before I got home?” 

“The past couple of nights you haven’t seen  _ all _ of me.  I knew that wouldn’t do tonight.”  Sansa let him take the razor from her hand.  

She wasn’t wrong.  Petyr would have probably insisted on stripping her bare at some point and taking his time with her, as he wasn’t able to the nights prior.  He would have then seen her full bush and not given a damn, but she may have tensed over it.  He never wanted her to be uncomfortable under his loving gaze.  He turned her around to face him as he gripped her cheek.  “If you are worried about becoming somehow less desirable because you can’t keep things up the way you used to,” Petyr gave her a peck on the lips.  “Stop.  I’ll still want to fuck you, shaved or not.  Now, lift your leg.”  

Sansa raised a brow in inquiry.  

Petyr let go of her and sat on the bench, tapping it for her to rest her foot.  With great hesitation, Sansa raised her leg as she had before.  Petyr scooted forward and kissed the inside of her knee.  She reached down and ran her fingers through his hair affectionately.  Purring into her touch, he rested his cheek against her knee and asked, “The usual landing strip?  Or something else in mind?”  

“It doesn’t matter.  I can’t see it.  So, surprise me.”  Sansa bit her lip playfully.  

Dimples grew on either side of his cheeks, as he set the razor on the bench and reached for the shaving cream.  As he built up a lather in his hands, she asked, “So, Shae?”  

“Took photos of Joffrey and Margaery together at Starfall.”  Petyr answered.  

“Fucking?”  Sansa asked.  

Petyr smiled, “Not yet.  She’s going back to get some  _ money-shots  _ now.”  

“You seem hesitant.”  

“She’s never met Tyrion before.”  Petyr massaged the soap into all the tender places containing hair.  “He may make her an offer that keeps her in the Lannister pocket instead of ours.”  

“So what if he does?  What would she have to tell him?  That we hired her to work for him?  He got the connection through you.  It would not be surprising if you contacted the girl first and told her to expect to be called upon by him.”  Sansa reasoned.  

“True.  We will not face consequences if she talks, but we will at least know whether or not she opens her mouth.”  Petyr picked up the razor.  

Sansa watched from above as she said, “She hasn’t betrayed us before.”  

“Has she ever been in a position to?”  He countered.  

“Fine.  I see your point.”  She raised one hand in resignation, as he smiled up at her.  

Petyr was careful not to nick her skin, pulling the blade with the grain of hair.  He rinsed it in the stream of the shower from time to time, and worked to keep his lines clean and neat.  After a moment of silence, Sansa asked, “Olyvar find anything?”  

“No.”  Petyr didn’t have to see her face to know she was disappointed.  In the two weeks since their baby shower, Olyvar had managed to convince Loras to visit Olenna at the home.  As predicted, Loras dragged him along.  Olyvar had laid eyes on the woman himself, out of the public eye, where there would be no need for a show.  He confirmed what they had seen from the funeral, but Petyr still couldn’t help but doubt that she was in fact devoid of necessary brain function.  

Sansa hadn’t argued or pushed it further, as he had expected.  In the silence, he asked, “Have you spoken to Rickon?”  

She ran her fingers through his hair again, petting him as he concentrated on his work.  “Yes.  Just before you got home.”  

Her tone answered any question he may have had, but he appreciated her elaboration, “All of her records state that she has a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s.  This is legitimate.  Maybe Loras really was referring to Olyvar when he said  _ both. _ ”  

Petyr rested his head against her inner thigh as he rinsed out the blade before going back for more.  “Perhaps.  It doesn’t feel right.”  

“No, it doesn’t.”  Sansa agreed, running her fingernails gently along his scalp.  “But that doesn’t mean that it isn’t the reality of the situation.”  

“So wise.”  Petyr chuckled and turned his head to kiss where his cheek lay.  

She chuckled and teased him, “How  _ else _ could I keep my husband’s attention?”

He hummed in his happiness, as he was careful with the curve of the cut.  “How is Rickon, by the way?”  

“How do you mean?”   Sansa rested her free hand over her belly.  

“We put him on another job, Sansa.  How is that sitting with him?”  Petyr stated the obvious.  

“He’s fine.”  Her answer was quick and to the point.  

Not willing to accept such an abrupt answer he pushed further, “And how is it sitting with you?”  

She held her tongue for longer than he thought would be necessary to think. She let her hand rub over her perfectly rounded bump, and changed the subject entirely.  “I disabled the app on your phone.”  

His head shot up in surprise.  She smiled, “Just this time.  Just this week.  You can put it back after.”  

“Why?”  If he thought he was curious before, he definitely was now.  His wife was so full of surprises.  

She smiled, “Because I’m awful.  I wanted to know something that you didn’t.”  

He felt himself frowning and leaning back, setting the razor on the bench with him.  He tried to keep the accusation away from his eyes, but knew it as there all the same.  “Why, Sansa?”  

She dropped her leg and crossed her arms over her belly in defense.  “So that I could tell you.”  

He stared back at her, brows wrinkled in question.  

“You know everything, Petyr.  All the time.  I don’t even know what fucking animal to stencil onto a wall.  Or whether or not I’m going to breastfeed.  So much is changing, and I don’t know the answers.  And what about us?  We fuck daily and we won’t be able to anymore.”  She shook her head, “That doesn’t matter.  I mean, it  _ does _ .  But it doesn’t.”  She took a deep breath, regrouping, “We won’t be able to do anything anymore, and I don’t know what we can do.” 

Tears suddenly rolled down her cheeks as she exclaimed, “I should know!  Shouldn’t I?  I’m the woman, aren’t I?!  I’m supposed to want this.  And I do.  I  _ do _ want this!”  Her hands flew to her belly, in silent apology for insinuating that perhaps she didn’t.  So grateful for the life that bloomed inside of her, she worked to make it right again.  “More than anything.”  

Petyr sat back, speechless.  He knew that whatever he had to say, it would only impede whatever was on the tip of her tongue.  So he listened.  He pressed his lips together and allowed her the space she needed to be honest, with herself more than with him.

She brought a hand to her face, covering it, as she said, “I am good at things, Petyr.”  

He fought the urge to interrupt her by agreeing.  

“And I am hard.”  Her voice shook.  Again, he fought the urge to point out that perhaps she wasn’t as hard as she thought, with this current state.  

She kept going, “Maybe not right now.”  Her hand found her belly again, speaking down to it, “You’re the only person on the planet that could reduce me to this, and you haven’t even been born yet.  I can’t imagine what it’ll be like when you are.  You’re going to be so beautiful.”  Sansa looked up at Petyr, staring back at her in total bewilderment and shook her head.  “I kill and I order others to be killed.  I do drugs and dance and run with dangerous people.  And I hold my own, Petyr.  So help me, I do.  You call Cersei a wild card, but I keep up.”  

Concerned that he may stop her by speaking aloud, he merely nodded his head. 

“I do.”  She sniffled.  “If we split up tomorrow--” 

Petyr stood up quickly, shaking his head.  Hormones were unpredictable and he was becoming nervous of the direction this was going.  She shook her head continuing, “I would pull it together and run the North, because that’s who I am.  I survive.  I pull it together.”  

Slowly, as if afraid of getting bitten, he slid an arm around her, and guided her head to his shoulder.  He was thankful she allowed it, and ran a hand down her back as he let her sob into him.  He felt her gulp, “But I’m not good at _ this _ .  I can’t seem to pull  _ this _ together.”  

After a prolonged pause, he attempted to speak, hoping it would help.  “You will.  When our daughter is born and placed in your arms, you will.  All of this will stop mattering.  You’ll just know.  Everything.  Breastfeeding or not.  Nursery themes.  How we’ll be intimate.  How we’ll spend our days.  You’ll just know, Sansa.”  He kissed the top of her head as he massaged the back of her neck, “And I’m fine with anything, as long as it’s with you.”  He kissed her again and used his age against her, “I’m not some young boy that will be bothered by nights in with his family.  Neither am I some old man who can’t appreciate a good “trip” with the right woman.”  He let his hand drift down to the small of her back and kissed the crook of her neck as he added, “I will follow you wherever you go, whatever you do.”  His other hand rest on her belly, “I only need the two of you.  The rest is extra.”  Spoken like a rich man.

She nodded against him and let him hold her for a while before he finally asked, “Well, you kept the update to yourself so that you could be the one to inform me this week.  So, tell me.  How big is our girl?”  He already knew; he’d been studying the fruits and vegetables ahead of time.

Sansa laughed and wiped at her tears, “She’s as big as a stalk of celery.”  

He nodded back at her and was pleased to hear that wasn’t all.  Sansa cleared her throat and smiled at him, “She’s getting so smart this week.”  

“Is she?”  Petyr smiled back.  

“Yes.  She’s keeping her eyes open whenever she’s awake now, seeing things.  So we could try Bran’s flashlight trick now if we wanted.”  Sansa gave an excited grin.  “And she’s been breathing and suckling and swallowing for a bit, but she’s starting to coordinate it all now.  She’s going through major brain development and her bones are getting harder and stronger.”

He had known that was coming up, but wasn’t sure of the exact week, so he was surprised and pleased to hear that it was happening now.  He kissed her again, holding her close.  She lowered her gaze in guilt.  “I’m sorry, Petyr.  I shouldn’t have deactivated it, even just for one week.”  

Petyr brought her head to rest on his shoulder again, and kissed her hair.  “It’s alright.  I didn’t realize how much I’d like it this way.  I want you to tell me from now on.”  He felt himself wince a little at the idea of handing over some amount, however small, of control, but he knew a good investment when he saw one.  This would boost his wife’s confidence. Therefore, he would suffer through the discomfort of not being the first to know something. 

They stood like that for a while, before Petyr turned her and guided her to sit on the bench, “Spread your legs.”  

She looked up at him smiling, “And we were having such a touching moment.”  

While he would never turn decline the opportunity to turn things into a bit more, that was not his intention when he made his request of her.  He lifted the razor and crouched down, “I need to finish up.”

He worked hard to keep the curve smooth as he ran the blade over her.  Lightening the mood, he mentioned, “I spoke to Ros before I left.  She asked me to give you a slice of iced lemon loaf she brought in for you.” 

The sound of Sansa’s laugh cleared the air and made him smile.  He rinsed the blade out a final time, as she teased, “So, you finally found out.”  

“Yes.”  He brought the detachable shower head down and rinsed away any lingering soap, proudly eyeing his handiwork.  “Though, it seems, I should be saying the same to you.  You found out.” 

She shrugged as he stood up, carefully unfurling his posture, feeling his joints and ligaments remind him of their recent strain.  “It wasn’t difficult, Petyr.  My favorite dessert mysteriously disappears on the same week we are informed about gestational diabetes.”

He reached for her, helping her to rise.  “My clever wife.”  

“Wise.  Clever.  You are flattering me, Petyr.  What do you want?”  Sansa smiled as he turned off the water and allowed him to guide her out of the stall. 

Petyr reached for the towel and began drying her off, starting with her back and shoulders before working his way down.  “You.”  

“You have me.”  Sansa sighed.  

He moved to the front of her, drying each breast and her belly.  “And I intend on keeping you.”  Petyr pulled her bathrobe off the hook and held it open for her, broaching a subject not often addressed, “I will meet your deadline.”  

“It’s been six weeks.”  Sansa stated evenly.  

Petyr was quick to reply, finally drying himself.  “And Cersei has spotted Joffrey and Margaery.  Things are in motion.” 

“What about Jaime? It’s not just about what Cersei wants.”  Sansa crossed her arms, her brow wrinkling.  

“Of course it is.  He will do whatever she wants him to.”  Petyr smiled.  “It’s what I do for you.  Unless you are telling me that their marriage is not as strong?”  

Sansa quieted, rubbing her lips with her fingertips, thinking.  Petyr wrapped the towel around his waist and questioned, “Is there something you’re not telling me?”  

“At the baby shower, Cersei was looking at Lancel.  As if she might be interested...”  Sansa answered shaking her head as if it were some silly joke. 

Cersei wasn’t the only married woman staring at Lancel, but that was alright.  Petyr had plans for him.  “Was she?”  

Sansa nodded, walking back to the bedroom.  “It doesn’t mean anything though.  Her and Jaime are obsessed with each other.”  

“ _ He’s  _ obsessed with her.  It’s not necessarily a mutual thing.”  Petyr corrected, as he padded across the hardwood floor behind her. 

Sansa picked her phone up off the bed and moved it to the nightstand, shaking her head at him.  “You don’t ruin twenty-years over someone like Lancel Lannister.” 

“Who said anything about ruin?  Do you think Jaime would give her up that easily?”  Petyr grabbed the clothes Sansa picked out and threw them on the bureau.

She stared back at him, jaw hanging open, “I was going to wear those.” 

“No you weren’t.”  Petyr smiled and pulled the comforter back.  

Sansa sighed.  “ _ Jaime, _ ” she emphasized, getting their conversation back on track, “would fly off the handle and lose control if Cersei cheated on him.” 

Petyr grinned at her and let his towel drop to the floor, unceremoniously exposing himself.  “Yes.  There would be many deaths.  But don’t you think he’d settle back into his place by her side after?  They have children together.  Twenty  _ years _ .  A territory to rule.  He can’t function without her.”  

Sansa climbed into bed, giving him a skeptical look.  “You sound like you know that for a fact.”

Petyr shook his head.  “No.  That won’t do.  Off.”  He gestured to her robe.  

When Sansa didn’t move quick enough, he reached over and undid the tie.  Satisfied that her robe was at least hanging open, he climbed in next to her.  She shrugged her arms out of her sleeves and dropped the garment beside the bed as he continued, “I don’t know for a fact.  But I am a man, devoted to a woman.  I  _ know _ what I’m capable of.  Now, getting back to the main focus, we turned Cersei onto the issue.  Jaime will follow her lead.”  Petyr reached for the bottle of cocoa butter lotion from the table, and began rubbing some into Sansa’s belly.  He held his tongue about the backup plan he was creating to deal with Lancel, to ensure that Jaime would feel motivated if Cersei’s urging wasn’t enough.  

“How can you be sure?”  Sansa asked, eyes closed, enjoying the massage.

Petyr smiled as he finished rubbing the lotion in, and gave another response, that was still true.  “Tyrion hired Shae.”  

Sansa opened her eyes and stared back at him, “Of course.  Cersei doesn’t deal with Tyrion.”  

“No.  Jaime does.  Unless Tyrion is acting on his own, Jaime sanctioned this.”  Petyr turned Sansa around to be little spoon to his big.  

Sansa snuggled her bottom back into him and held his arms around her as she used her free hand to reach for the remote control.  “Do you think he’s acting on his own?”   

“Even if he is, Jaime will feel more motivated, once he sees that even his brother is wary of Margaery.”  Petyr spoke into her shoulder.

She must have been listening to the reasoning behind his words, because she remained silent in his embrace for a while, before nodding her head.  Sansa raised the remote and flicked on the television.  Their show had not come on yet, just a series of commercials.  He held her as they watched the screen, finally allowing himself to melt into the comfort of his bed and his woman, and almost startled when she said his name, “Petyr?”  

“Yes?”  He refused to open his eyes, too ensconced in the feel of her.

He could hear the smile in her voice as she tickled her fingers down his arm, “What did you shave?  What pattern?  I know it wasn’t a straight line.”  

His eyes snapped open, a mischievous glee overtaking him, as he smiled into her shoulder and all but sang, “Would you like to see?”  

When she nodded her head, he quickly lifted his to scan the room for a small hand held mirror.  When he couldn’t find one, he reached behind him to pull his cellphone off the nightstand.  Sansa raised an eyebrow when she saw the phone and he gave an unapologetic grin as he peeled back the blankets.  

Sansa brought a hand to her stomach, as if that would somehow minimize her level of exposure.  Petyr brought the phone down between them and instructed, “Lift your leg.”  

She slowly complied and he thread his arm holding the phone through her thighs, and snapped a picture.  When he pulled the phone away, she eyed him, waiting to see.  Petyr felt almost giddy looking at the perfectly landscaped red thatch that now contained his personal touch.  He handed her the phone and brought his lips to her shoulder blade.  

Sansa laid in his arms silently, studying the image on the screen, trying to make sense of it before she finally asked with a slight smirk, “Did you shave the letter ‘P’ into me?”  

His face hurt from grinning, as he spoke against her shoulder, giving her light kisses in between words.  “Do you like it?” 

Amusement filled her voice as she teased, “Well, that depends.  Is it ‘P’ for  _ Petyr _ , or ‘P’ for  _ pussy _ ?” 

He reached down, and coaxed her thighs apart enough to let his hand slip between them again.  Once through, he palmed her sex, giving it a possessive grab as he smiled into her ear, “What if it stands for,  _ Petyr’s Pussy _ ?”  

She gasped in surprise and reflexively squirmed into him.  He tightened his grip, and pulled her back against his growing cock before biting the back of her neck.  “Hmm?  Would you like that?”

Her hand let go of his phone and it dropped to the mattress, as Sansa moaned her agreement, and shifted her hips.  Petyr clenched his teeth, regaining his self control, before loosening his grip, keeping his hand flat against her.  His voice was husky as he said, “Good.  I can’t have you forgetting who that’s for.”  

He could see the smile on the side of her cheek as she nodded against the pillow and whispered, “I don’t.”

Petyr cleared his throat and moved his open palm a little, giving a gentle massage of apology for a moment of roughness, and then retreated back from between her legs.  He kissed her shoulder and rubbed her belly as he changed the subject, “Look at that.  Our show’s on.”  

Her cheeks were flushed quite beautifully, as she smiled and pulled the covers back up, settling them both in and down.  They cuddled in silence until the commercial, and then she bit her lip and asked, “How about,  _ Alayne _ ?”  

Petyr didn’t have to ask what she was talking about.  Whenever Sansa brought up random names, it was in regards to the baby.  “The name you went by when you played a hooker for our anniversary?”  

“Yes.”  

“No.”  His response was swift and offered no room for negotiation.  

She played innocent.  “Why not?”  

Petyr ran his hand over her belly, feeling the movement of his child as he answered, “It won’t do.  I’m not naming our daughter after a pretend hooker.  Each time I call her name, I’ll see that brown wig in my lap, sucking me off.”  

Sansa burst out laughing into her pillow.  Petyr continued, enjoying the sound of her, “I’ll call her down to supper and instantly catch a memory of you bent over in that red thong.”  Sansa laughed even harder.  He shook his head, “I’m not having that.”

Petyr leaned over and nipped her ear.  “It’s settled, no naming our children after hookers, strippers, lounge singers, or any of the like.”  Sansa grinned and nodded her head in agreement.  Petyr pulled her tighter into his arms, shifting to rub the bare skin of his chest against her back, and slide his legs against hers. “Good.  Now, can we stop this silliness?”  He gestured back to the tv.  “The finale’s almost over.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any ideas as to what their favorite tv show is? I'm open to suggestions :-)


	34. The Rose Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were so many things left unsaid, so many questions unanswered.

She finally caught him, and there was no escaping her firm hold.  He startled in shock, his eyes questioning her.  She held his gaze like she held her stance, _determined_ .  He could question all he wanted.  She would not free him until she prevailed.  Her grip tightened, a glimpse of the force she could inflict should he not comply.  Sansa’s words were slow and deliberate.  “I _said_ , come to bed.”

“If you keep holding my cock like that, I don’t think we’ll make it to bed.”  Petyr glanced down at her hand in his pants.  

“Fine by me.”  She declared, and stroked him again within the confines of his clothes.  

He grinned, “Oh?  It is, is it?”  Petyr lifted a hand to her scalp and pulled her close to him.  His lips subjugated hers, winning back the dominance she had taken  when she held his dick so forcefully and unexpectedly.  

Sansa surrendered willingly, wanting to be overpowered.  She didn’t know what had come over her all day, craving his touch.  It was perhaps the horniest she’d been in a couple of weeks, and despite how many times she serviced herself, only sex would satiate.  Her nipples were in a constant state of erection, rubbing against the material of her clothes, begging for more friction.  The tell-tale tingle of arousal where her legs met, alarmed her body so much, that she could focus on little else.  

There did not appear to be anything in particular that would have prompted this degree of nymphomania in her, and she credited it easily to hormones.  Sansa would have visited Petyr at work to get her needs addressed earlier in the day if she didn’t already know that he was tied up with meetings.  Now, as her free hand came up and tore at the buttons of his shirt, husband and wife would both share the consequences of such build up.  

Able to inhale nothing but the mint that permeated from his mouth, Sansa squeezed her thighs together to offer a twinge of relief, a whimper giving away her unyielding urges.  Petyr broke from her lips, chuckling proudly, “You really _need_ it.”  

Sansa glared at him and pulled away.  He frowned at the sudden loss of contact and grabbed himself to compensate.  She marched around him, not needing foreplay.  She’d been wet all day; anything other than instant invasion was purely to catch him up to speed.  Without hesitation, she pulled down her cotton pajama pants and leaned forward, gripping the table.  “I’m not in the mood for teasing.  Fuck me.”

At that, Petyr fully freed his cock and stroked himself in the open air as he approached.  Sansa looked over her shoulder at him as the head of his cock rubbed against her.

His hands grabbed her ass and the flesh around her opening, spreading her.  She gushed, feeling him push against the resistance of her folds, and she reached her hand down to give her nub a press.  He dug his fingers in, as if holding on to stay upright, gradually immersing himself in her.

She smiled down at the desk, her insides shifting to accommodate him.  As she progressed in her weeks, the increased blood flow only swelled her soft and delicate tissue, until it demanded stiff opposition to tame its growing demands.  Sansa wouldn’t stand for how excruciatingly slow he was taking things.  She wanted to be assailed, not worshipped.  She used her one-handed grip on the desk to push back on his cock with force.

Petyr clucked his teeth, “No, no, no.”  One hand released her and Sansa heard the loud crack well before she felt the sting of the open palm against the bare skin of her backside.  Her mouth opened into a tall “O,” relishing the rough contact.  His voice, smooth as silk, drifted into her ear as he explained, “You wanted my cock.  Now, you’ll _take it,_ how _I_ give it.”

The complete control that radiated from him urged her need for the reckless all the more.  She pushed back, hard against him again, and then excitedly awaited her next spanking.  His response was swift, the cheek on her other side reddened at the loud slap.  Both of Petyr’s hands smoothed up and over the curve of her ass, and settled on the small of her back, as he towered over her from behind.  He kept his movements slow and deliberate, gliding into her wetness.  

Ignoring the rhythm he was creating between them, Sansa sped up her handwork, not leaving her orgasm to chance.  His thumbs massaged her as he slid one foot back, the clang of his belt and pocket change sounding on the floor.  Sansa appreciated the deeper reach the change in position gave them.  

She could feel him exhaling, his grip tightening, as his pumping into her became more uniform and regular.  He was getting close and she knew it.  Sansa smiled down at her long hair draped in front of her face, and concentrated all of her attention on the little bundle of nerves that her fingers worked feverishly.  They were both getting close, feeling the urgency of their joining, when there was a sudden exclamation, “ _Ugmh!_ ”

Both Baelishes whipped their heads around to see none other than Jon standing in the doorway.  He was pale as a ghost, eyes bulging, and jaw hanging.  He was no stranger to the couple’s touching and flirting, having been witness to many of their very public displays of affection that usually ran at an R rating.  But he had never actually caught them in the act before, and the reality of it was mortifying for all involved.  

Jon backed into the door, fumbling for the knob behind him as he stared ahead, seemingly forgetting how to turn his head.  Petyr shoved his glistening erection back in his pants, knuckles white with tension as he roared, “ _Out!_ ”

Sansa’s scrambled to pull her pants up and screeched, “What the fuck, Jon?!”

To everyone’s relief, he found the knob and exited as quickly as humanly possible. Sansa brought the back of her hand to her cheek, feeling the heat of her embarrassment radiating off it.  Petyr had just finished fastening his belt, when he caught sight of her.  He reached for her hand, gently pulling it from the crimson glow of her face.  He worked her knuckles in circles as he soothed, “We’ve been interrupted before, and it hasn’t affected you like this.”  

She glanced over to him, as if realizing for the first time that he was talking to her.  She offered a half-hearted smile, and allowed him to pull her to his chest.  She took a breath and said, “It hasn’t been family before.”

“Maybe not _your_ family, but I do remember a time when Varys was unfortunate enough to walk in on us.”  Petyr kissed the side of her head and rested a hand on her belly.  He pulled away enough to face her, one eyebrow raised playfully as he said, “And if I recall, he did knock.  Which is more than you can say for Jon right now.”  

Sansa let a nervous laugh escape, and covered his hand with her own.  “Something’s going on.  There has to be a reason for this. Jon’s never just.. barged in before.”

“Let’s find out.”

Sansa took a deep breath, before calling, “Jon!”

There was a quiet knock at the door, and Sansa watched Petyr roll his eyes as he said, “You don’t need to knock if you’ve been called in.”  

The door cracked open slowly and carefully.  A mop of brown curls appeared first, face unseen, eyes cast down.  It helped to know that he was just as mortified as she. The man had seen a lot of things during his employ, and a fair deal more of her in very compromising positions than any family member would care for, but never to such an explicit degree.  Before Petyr could insist that he face them, Sansa spoke up, “What is it, Jon?”  

His hands moved to tell her that Varys had been trying to get ahold of them, but that Petyr wasn’t answering his phone.  Varys told Jon that it was very important that Petyr speak to him.  After Petyr continued to not respond, both men became worried and Jon began searching the house.  It was not like Littlefinger to not answer his phone.  Jon’s inability to speak made calling out for him impossible.  Sansa wasn’t answering her phone either, and panic started to well up inside Jon.  Knocking on doors before entering was the last thing on his mind.  

Petyr pulled his phone out of his pocket to confirm Jon’s story.  “Fucking hell.”  

Sansa glanced back at him, surprised by his level of annoyance.  “What is it?”  

“I never got the notifications because my phone was automatically updating.”  He held it up to show Sansa the new interface and the box that said there was seven calls and texts from, “Baron Harkonnen.”

“Ugh.”  Disgusted by the few limitations of technology, Sansa pulled a face at him.  Petyr shot her a return look, “What about you?  I didn’t hear _your_ phone buzzing.”  

It was at that, that Jon looked up at them, his brow furrowed in irritation.  He moved swiftly, taking long strides across the room to meet her.  He grabbed the hand at her side and turned her palm up to receive the phone he thrust into her grip.  

Sansa blinked at him, watching the flurry of movement before her as he proceeded to tell her off, that leaving her phone on the other side of the house was dangerous.  Petyr nodded his head in agreement, though didn’t bother to warn her to be more careful.  Jon had been doing quite a good job of letting her know that the best way to protect her was if her phone is on her or at least in the same room as her at all times.  

She felt like a young girl, getting chastised by her older brother, not the boss she was to her _employee._  Reining her emotions back in, she cleared her throat and lifted her chin.  “That’s enough. I understand your point.”  

His cheek tightened as he struggled to contain himself, and crossed his arms over his chest defensively.  Sansa looked down at her phone and saw her own string of alerts from Varys.  When she looked back up at Jon, he was still staring at her, annoyed.  He no doubt blamed her thoughtlessness for his humiliation.  

Feeling uneasy, Sansa forced a small smile, “Why not take the night off? Be with Ygritte.”

He would not be bought so easily, raising one hand to decline and then the other to explain that _he_ took his job seriously and the night wasn’t over yet.  Sansa glanced away, fuming at his high and mighty approach.  Petyr whispered into her ear, “He’s devoted. _Reward that_.”  

Her impulse demanded she turn quickly and catch his lips in her teeth for giving his opinion when she hadn’t asked.  She didn’t, however, not wanting to create any more of a show of their intimacy for Jon.  Instead, she turned to face Petyr.  “We should find out what’s so important, _shouldn’t we_?”

Understanding instantly, Petyr brought his phone up and called Varys.  Sansa and Jon stood in silence, listening to Petyr’s one side of the conversation:

“No, we’re fine.  Never mind. It’s not important.  Fine, it was updates.”  Petyr stared up at the ceiling, “Yes, I know.  Scheduling them is a better idea.  You’re reminding me right now, aren’t you?”  He sighed loudly.  “Was there something you wanted to tell me?  Something important enough to send Jon on a manhunt?  Or did you want to continue nagging me more than my wife does?”  

Sansa slapped his chest and furrowed her brows at him.  Petyr grinned back at her and pointed at the phone as he mouthed, _Sorry_.

Then he straightened out, standing taller, at attention.  “Who else knows?  Tyrion?  Keep him occupied for as long as you can.  We’re on our way.”  

Captivated by the sudden urgency, Sansa waited for an explanation.  Petyr nudged her towards the door as he ordered Jon to get the car ready.  

“Where are we going?”  Sansa asked, feeling herself being pulled to their bedroom.  She hazarded a guess based on the information she had gathered from listening. “To see Tyrion?”

“No, Starfall.”

A dance club at thirty-four weeks pregnant.  Sansa groaned at the prospect of being surrounded by all the happy, skinny people gyrating on each other, without a care in the world.  Sansa had fully abandoned her heels the week before, and was unable to find a single dress to complement her sensuality.  At home with Petyr that hadn’t bothered her, but seeing all the bouncy people cruising for sex just might.  After all, this week, Baby Baelish was officially the size of a melon.

She stared at her closet, unsure of what to wear.  Clearly trying to get her to pick up the pace, Petyr shook his head and picked through the hangers in her closet.  “I’ll narrow it down for you, ok?”  

Sansa felt some relief at having some help.  If she allowed herself to think about it too long, she’d be upset with herself for feeling so stalled on such a simple decision.  Petyr pulled out two dresses and threw them on the bed.  “Pick one.  I don’t know what fits you better now.”

She looked at the navy blue dress laid out for her, as well as the white one beside it.  Petyr had run to the bathroom, the sound of the faucet telling her that he was preening himself.  Sansa took a deep breath and told herself, _I am Sansa Baelish.  My husband had me bent over his desk at the slightest provocation.  I am still sexy, melon or not.  I do not get fazed by things like this._  She called out to him, “Both work.  Do you have a preference?”  

“Your legs look great in the blue, and your tits equally so in the white.”  He answered as he walked back into the bedroom.  Unhappy that she hadn’t started to change, his hands gestured, asking to help her undress.

She smiled, allowing him to pull her shirt up over her head.  If he wanted to rush her along this way, she’d let him dress her.  She laughed in her head, _Practice for when we’re older._ She then felt a small frown forming, realizing that with their age difference, it would probably be the other way around.  

Sansa bent over and reached for the white dress, mindful of how he pulled her pants down for her.  The dirty smile that spread across his lips at her naked form chased away depressing thoughts, and assured her further that her moment of insecurity before was time wasted.  Sansa stepped into the white dress and waited patiently as Petyr zipped her up, kissing the top of her neck as he did.  She slid her shoes on while Petyr went to her jewelry box.  “If Tyrion isn’t at Starfall, why are we going?  Didn’t you ask Varys to keep Tyrion so that you could meet up with him?”

Petyr handed her a set of earrings and shook his head, “Varys is keeping Tyrion to see if he can bleed him for more information.”  Satisfied that Sansa was ready, Petyr guided her out of their bedroom and down the hall.  “Shae came through. Tyrion passed the photos to Jaime and Cersei.”

Jon was outside with the car running.  Sansa doubted, “And Tyrion just _told_ Varys all of this?”

Petyr opened the car door for her.  “No.  This is all speculation, based on the things we know and the things Tyrion told Varys.”  Petyr looked in the rearview mirror at Jon, “Starfall.”  

“And what did Tyrion actually say?”

“He said that Joffrey and Margaery are out in the open now.  That Jamie and Cersei know.”  Petyr answered.  “And _knowing_ the Lannisters as well as we do, it’s obvious that they were none too pleased to have their suspicions confirmed.”  

“Cersei, at least.”  Sansa smirked.  She couldn’t blame the woman.  Margaery was not someone she wanted near any of her loved ones, let alone  a hypothetical son for the whore to target.  

Agreeing with her, Petyr said, “At least.”  

“Why are we going to Starfall, again?”  Sansa repeated her question from earlier.  

Petyr placed his hand on her leg, and looked into her eyes.  “Because Joffrey and Margaery are there now. In the Rose Room.”  

Fuck.  They were out and proud, and in one of the Baelishes’ establishments no less.  It could easily be perceived as Petyr and Sansa condoning the couple’s relationship.  This had to be handled delicately.  Sansa pulled her phone out of her purse and scowled at Petyr, “You should have told me sooner.”  

Before he could respond, she dialed Cersei and held her finger up to silence him as it rang.  There were two rings before Sansa heard, “I told you, take a colon-cleaner first, _then_ wear the jewelry.  All good things require preparation.”  

“Ha. Ha.”  Sansa retorted sarcastically.  “That’s not why I’m calling.”  

“Oh, straight to business.”  Cersei laughed.  

Sansa put aside what she knew concerning Joffrey and Margaery.  Cersei had never told her anything specific, so it would be odd for Sansa to know anything.  Well, it wouldn’t be odd, but it would show more of her hand than she cared to. “I called you only because I know you hate that cunt as much as I do.”  

“Margaery.”  Cersei acknowledged.  

“Yes,” Sansa confirmed.  

“What about her?”  

Sansa spoke carefully, “She’s at Starfall right now--”

Cersei interrupted with her cackling laugh.  “Go evict the bitch.  It’s yours, bought and paid for.”  

“--with Joffrey.”  Sansa finished, almost wincing as she said it.  

There was a long, heavy silence.  “I see.”  

Sansa glanced at Petyr.  He was engaged with his own phone calls.  Cersei’s voice sounded through the phone, “I guess it’s not surprising. Joffrey declared his... _affection_ for the whore this afternoon.” Cersei practically spat the word out.

“Oh?”  Sansa sounded as though she couldn’t imagine what may have prompted that.  

“There were pictures taken of them together.  Jaime and I confronted him with them today and he stormed off, refusing to end things with her.”  Cersei confirmed what Sansa and Petyr had already suspected.

Sansa wasted no time in her reply, “Oh, Cers, I’m so sorry.”  

“Kids. They rip your heart right out.”  Cersei’s gulp was audible.  

If Sansa didn’t know any better, she would think that the head to the Lannister family was reduced to tears, and was mildly shocked that she would so openly divulge such a private moment with her. Luckily, Sansa could hear the ice clinking in the glass and knew the woman was staying consistent with her typical coping mechanisms.  She only shared this information so freely, because she didn’t appear to see a willful child as a weakness, but instead, a standard condition.  Knowing it was the smart move, Sansa offered, “Would you like me to send them packing?”  

“Thanks, Little Dove.  We look out for each other, don’t we?”  Cersei smiled through the phone.  Then she spoke again, “No, don’t.  I know it would be an act of war to outright deny them service, but, you can remind my son what family he belongs to.”

It was rare for Cersei to be so rational, especially in regards to one of her children.  Sansa assured her, “We will jog his memory.”  She paused for a moment, listening to the ice clink in Cersei’s glass, and then decided to push a little further.  “Sometimes I wish it didn’t matter.”  

“What’s that?”  Cersei took the bait.  

“She’s awful and nobody likes her.  Nobody will miss her.”  Sansa insisted, purposely vague in her statements.  

Cersei gave a long wary sigh, “Yes, but nobody will favor the victor.  Tradition and honor mean more to people than relieving the world of another stupid whore.”

There were moments that Cersei sounded every bit her age.  The wisdom of experience inhibited the impulsivity that Sansa was, for once, trying to nurture.  Sansa forced herself to sigh.  “Power, who would have known how immobilizing it could be.  Such a pity.”

“Damn straight.”  Cersei agreed.  “My son is young.  He’ll tire of the same cunt, and toss her aside soon enough.  In the meantime, when every door in this city is harder to get in, he’ll feel the consequences of his choice.”  

“Too right.”  Sansa agreed.  “I’ve gotta go now. I just wanted to make sure you knew he was there, and not at our approval.”  

“Of course.  Thanks again, Little Dove.”  Cersei took another swig over the phone.

Sansa hung up and looked over at Petyr, who was watching her conversation intently.  He gripped her hand and asked, “Is Cersei on her way to rip her boy out of Starfall by his ear?”

“No. She’s treating this like a phase that will pass.”  Sansa clenched her teeth together at the thought of Margaery _fucking_ Tyrell becoming an accepted stage of development for young men.  Sansa refused to think of the woman as any normal part of life, and was more than a little disappointed in the Lannister for such a lapse in judgement.

Petyr lifted her hand, giving it soft kisses.  “Then we’ll just have to put a bug in Joffrey’s ear.”  

“A bug?”  Sansa was inclined to listen.  While she was spiraling inside herself, feeling a bit defeated that Cersei was not acting immediately, her husband was already thinking of what to do about it.

He played with her wedding ring as he spoke, “Marriage.  Legal contracts entitling one to another’s assets.   _Merging_ family names.”  

His look was nothing short of devilish, and she couldn’t help but bring her free hand to his cheek, petting him proudly.  He smiled at the feel of her caress, “I take it you agree.”  

“Yes.”  She fought back a giggle at the thought of Joffrey announcing to Cersei that he intended to make an honest woman out of Margaery.  If Cersei didn’t feel motivated to murder yet, marriage would certainly send her over the edge.

When they arrived at Starfall, it looked much as it had the last time that Sansa was there, Arya’s twenty-first.  She was not surprised that the Tyrell influence had not left the place; it had only been three weeks since the deeds were presented to her at the baby shower.  Making the establishment their own was not high on their list of priorities at that moment, and, to be honest, Starfall had quite a following as it was.  Petyr advised that the Doghouse stay as was, being that it was already profitable that way.  He’d probably feel the same about Starfall.

Sansa could feel the bass pumping through the speakers, vibrating through the floor to her feet.  It was not an uncommon sensation to feel in a club, but the way her belly churned with her daughter’s increased activity, she couldn’t help but notice it more now.  Sansa froze on the floor, feeling each bump and kick of her child, while the sea of dancers moved around her.  Jon stood guard, redirecting any stray arm or elbow that may bump into her.  Petyr had been leading the way, focused on his goal, but stopped when he noticed she’d stopped following.  

His eyebrows furrowed and though he almost shouted it, she had to read his lips to see that he asked, “What’s wrong?”  

Sansa grabbed his hand and placed it on her belly.  He smiled at the activity, and moved to stand behind her, pulling her back against him.  Sansa watched Jon change position to stand guard her front, buffering the crowd.  Both of Petyr’s hands set on his daughter, and he swayed back and forth, taking her with him.  He brought his lips to her ear.  “She’s dancing.”  

Dimples grew deep in her cheeks, now aching with the pain of such happiness.  She let her head drop back to rest on his shoulder as they swayed in the music together.  They had work to do. They _always_ had work to do.  It was these stolen moments together that made all the lying, stealing, and murdering, worthwhile.  Petyr kissed her shoulder as they moved, and she knew that even then, his eyes were cast up at the balcony, to the Rose Room.  She turned her head on his shoulder and rubbed her lips against his ear.  “Back to work?”  

He nodded slightly, placing one last kiss at the crook of her neck.  She raised her head and allowed him to take her hand, as he led the way.  Jon followed close behind, as they made their way up the stairs.  

Margaery was hard to miss, sitting on the couch, attempting to look at home in a place that no longer belonged to her.  Joffrey laid back, head nestled against her breast, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot with intoxication.  What was supposed to be intimate and sexual in nature appeared almost maternal.  It was in the way she held him, stroked his hair, and his ego.  The age difference was not to blame here, as Margaery was not that much older than him.  Thinking of her own relationship with a much older man, Sansa knew there was nothing paternal about how Petyr held her. The Margaery-Joffrey dynamic was uncomfortable and wrong because it exploited a young man’s weakness: his mother.

“Baelish,” Joffrey acknowledged, not making any effort to move from his current position.  

Petyr did not react to the boy’s clear attempt to appear equal to a couple so far out of his league.  Like the gentleman her husband was, he led her to the couch and waited until she was situated, before sitting beside her.  Petyr would not show Joffrey the kindness of formality, and instead, acknowledged him by his given name, “Joffrey.”  

The slight was too subtle for the young Lannister to catch, and too pronounced for the whore to miss.  Margaery scowled back, “ _Petyr_ , it’s so good to see you.”

Her tongue getting away from her, Sansa countered, “Now that _we own_ Starfall, I’m sure _we’ll_ be seeing each other more.”  

Petyr wrapped an arm around Sansa, pulling her close to him.  It was meant as both a comfort and a cue.  This was not about Margaery. Joffrey was the focus.

Margaery’s nose crinkled in disgust.  Not caring to catch the unspoken conversation, Joffrey asked from his slouch, “What brings you here, Baelish?”  

“You.” There was no point in trying to pretend otherwise.

Joffrey smiled, “You honor me.”  

“No, he doesn’t.”  Margaery corrected.  She then donned a playful smile as she breathed deeply, shoving more of her chest into his face.  “He’s come to scold us.”  

Sansa fought to keep her eyes from rolling.  “Or _remind you_ of the proper way of doing things.”

Petyr said nothing, but Sansa knew she was overstepping again.  In a small attempt to make it right, Sansa snuggled closer to him, bringing her hand to his chest.  She would make herself  look as if she were hanging off of him, victim to his power and experience.  His arm around her moved, as his hand drifted to her belly.  Petyr settled into his dominant role, spreading his legs wide, as if his balls were too big to keep trapped between his thighs.  This was how Joffrey would understand, how Lannisters acted.  Petyr’s lips came down and kissed the top of her head, a show of approval for the way she spoke up, even if he didn’t truly agree.  That was how a Baelish spoke, supporting each other regardless of whether they approved, never showing the weakness of a divided state to others.

Joffrey straightened a little, affected on some level by how Petyr seemingly tamed a woman as strong and willful as Sansa.  Margaery shifted uncomfortably, feeling her control over him lessening.  She spat back at Petyr, “You may own the deeds, but this club will always be my family’s.”  

Petyr smiled, “I will allow the name, for now, yes.  It targets an otherwise untapped market.”  He shifted his gaze to Joffrey and made a show of rubbing his hand over Sansa’s belly as he said, “It would be hard for me to build such a strong reputation with the _gay_ community.  I have nothing but appreciation for all the hard-work your brother put into making this _invitation-only_ room so legendary.”  He waved his hand in the air for emphasis.

Joffrey’s cheek tightened, “Not everyone who comes here is queer, Baelish.” He was so easily baited.

“It makes no difference to me.  It’s whatever is best for business.”  Petyr shrugged.

Joffrey brushed his bangs out of his eyes, a clear sign of agitation as he attempted to replicate Petyr’s careless shrug as he said, “Yeah, exactly.”

Seeing the young Lannister already so off-kilter, Sansa kissed Petyr’s jaw and asked, “Did you say something about invitation-only?”  

“Mmm,” Petyr rumbled, not committing to a distinct word in either direction.  He allowed it to hang in the air as he rubbed Sansa’s belly, almost absent-mindedly, his eyes locked on the unwelcome patrons.

Joffrey offered a fake chuckle and sweat formed on his brow over the possibility of being kicked out of a club.  “Surely the invitation was _implied._  Our families being so close and all.”  He ran his hand over Margaery’s knee, provoking her smug smile.  “Unless the Baelishes are not the friend to the Lannisters that they claim to be.”  

Smartass.  Sansa bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping at him.  He was still a child, playing at being a grown-up.  Petyr’s own cheek twitched in amusement, “Friendship is a complicated and delicate endeavour, especially in this line of work.”

“He always does this.” Margaery laughed to Joffrey, attempting to dismiss Petyr’s words.  “You’ll never get a straight answer from the man.”

Sansa kept her eyes on Margaery, as she allowed her head to rest on Petyr’s chest.  Her fingers stroked between the buttons of his shirt, feeling the protrusion of his scar, it acting as a totem for strength.  Petyr’s light hum was inaudible with the constant beat of music in the background, but she felt it, and pressed against him.  

He waved his free hand in the air and a drink appeared in it, another show of dominance in his new establishment.  He took a sip.  “My friendship with the Lannisters would have me toss you both out for flaunting your unsanctioned union.  My friendship with _Loras_ would have me allow any Tyrell admittance, as long as this building stands, out of respect for its previous owners.”  Petyr took another sip. “See? Delicate.”

“Which will you choose?”  Margaery asked, her smug smile not reaching her eyes.  

Sansa saw her cue and cast her gaze at Joffrey, asking from her place under Petyr’s arm, “Which will _you_?”

Joffrey scoffed and shifted out of Margaery’s arms, sitting up.  He shrugged his shoulders, not answering.  

Petyr’s voice sounded over Sansa’s head, “It’s a risk for a relationship that’s, not-so _committed_.”  Petyr’s hand searched for Sansa’s. He raised it in the air, letting her diamond sparkle under the flashing lights of the club before making a show of kissing it.

Joffrey jumped up fast, unable to hide his agitation. Jon was between them in an instant, his hand on the hilt of his gun.  Margaery rose from her seat as she scolded her young lover, “ _Joffrey!”_

Petyr hadn’t moved a muscle, completely confident in the young Lannister’s impotence.  Joffrey whipped around on Margaery, screwing his face in anger.  She reached for his arm, an attempt to smooth things over.  He tore out of her grip as he spat at Petyr, “My parents think you’re clever. I think you’re too short-sighted to be clever.”

Sansa felt Petyr’s arm lift, and she pulled away from him, allowing him to stand.  Jon remained at the ready, still separating the two men.  Petyr smiled, “I meant no disrespect, to either you, or..” Petyr flashed Margaery a quick glance, “..your... _girlfriend.”_

Joffrey smiled, not quite catching the emphasis on Petyr’s last question.  He was too proud thinking that he got Petyr Baelish to attempt amends with him.  How little he knew Petyr. Sansa watched her husband continue, “I can’t help but think maybe you might have, however, by putting my family in the awkward situation of having to choose our loyalties.”  

The young Lannister squirmed, clearly not having thought much about it.  Sansa could see the scene playing out easily in her head: his parents confront him, he stomped off, and Margaery suggested they go party to feel better.  She would know what she was doing--bringing him to her family’s _former_ establishment.  Joffrey would be too emotional to think it through.  Sansa could tell by the way he remained silent, that he understood his mistake now.  

Sansa happened to glance over to the railing, and saw the top of Lancel’s head.  More and more of him was revealed as he climbed the stairs, his father behind him.  For as calm as Cersei presented herself, someone in the Lannister camp thought it best to come call their cub home.  Lancel made it to the top of the staircase and met her eye, before turning to Joffrey.  He opened his mouth to say something, but Kevan spoke over him.  “It’s time to come home.”  

Joffrey fumed, his fists clenching and his shoulders hunching.  Not willing to appear less commanding than his father, Lancel reiterated, “Come on, Joff, you’re wanted back at the house.”  

Margaery slid a hand to his shoulder in encouragement. It was unclear what she was encouraging, however, either to stand his ground or back down.  It was the same sort of gesture she would offer Loras, and Sansa thought it may just be what the woman did to anyone unreasonable.  

In an attempt to save face, Joffrey shrugged, “Honestly, we were leaving anyway.  Profit or not, this place is a bit too _gay_ for me.”  

Sansa felt her eye twitch in annoyance.  He spoke of it like it was a negative, when in reality, it was a gay club.  Her fingernails dug into her palm as she realized, she was perhaps being a touch protective of Loras. If she was being completely honest, Renly too.  

Her eyes traveled to Margaery, smiling and nodding along with Joffrey.  In addition to being a dirty whore, she was apparently also a shitty sister, too pathetic to speak up for her brother.  Sansa had always known that, obviously, but loathed having it confirmed.  

“Baelish.”  Joffrey acknowledged one last time, and then turned to leave.  Margaery remained still for a moment, shifting her glance between Petyr and Sansa.  

She smiled, “ _Petyr_.”

Sansa thanked her current girth for keeping her from flying off the couch and slicing her throat.  Her sleazy, slutty voice saying Petyr’s name was the ultimate abrasion.

“Margaery.”  Unexpectedly, Petyr reached forward grabbing her hand up in his, and not at all as roughly as Sansa may have approved of.  Instead, it was gentle, smooth even.

Sansa felt her heart race as she watched him bring the whore’s claw to his lips.  Margaery’s eyes lit up as he kissed the back of her hand as if he were a doting suitor.  Sansa’s palms went clammy with sweat and a sick feeling washed over her as she heard her husband say, “If only the circumstances were different, _Margaery._ ”  Sansa’s shields went up, every muscle in her body going rigid.  Her mask settled in place, flat in its expression.  She refused to allow the Tyrell to see her affected by the actions of her husband.

Margaery smiled back, taking pleasure in his gesture.  She stared at Sansa as she agreed, “Of course.”

“Margaery!”  Joffrey all but screamed from the top of the stairs.  Lancel and Kevan stood behind waiting.  Lancel caught her eye again, and Sansa couldn’t help but notice how utterly exhausted the man looked.  She would have wondered more on his sudden fatigue if she didn’t have the all encompassing urge to spin her wedding ring around on her finger and smack her husband across the face for allowing his skin to touch Margaery’s.  

As if suddenly feeling the rage that grew behind him, Petyr let go of Margaery’s hand and turned to watch them leave.  It was no surprise that the slutty Tyrell glanced over her shoulder at him.  

When all members of the other families were out of sight, Petyr turned where he stood to look down to Sansa.  Unwilling to allow him to tower over her, she slowly rose, her teeth clenching.  Knowing before he was told, Jon motioned for the staff to leave the Rose Room and all but ran down the stairs after them. Petyr reached for her and Sansa ducked out of his grasp.  

“Sansa.”  

She held her hand up to stop him.  “You had better bleach those lips before you use them on me ever again.”  

“Sansa.”

“Don’t.” Sansa shook her head and turned away from him.  

He caught her arm and whipped her around to face him.  She toyed with the idea of spitting in his face, but decided against it when he held up a phone that she didn’t recognize.  

“Margaery’s?”  She knew the answer as she asked.  

He nodded his head.  

He pickpocketed her.  Sansa laughed.  Air filling her lungs settled the tension in her body.  She chuckled again, “Fuck you, Petyr.”  

He smiled proudly and then grabbed either side of her face, offering her no room to escape as he kissed her deeply.  Sansa surrendered, all her ire fading as she gripped his collar.

When they pulled away, he kissed the side of her cheek, nuzzling into her.  “Let’s see if there’s anything useful in here, shall we?”  

Sansa smiled and looked down at the phone.  She was startled by how easy it was to see everything.  How telling of Margaery it was, that there was no number code, no protection.  Common sense was something Sansa took for granted, not having worked for a side that lacked it.  

The first order of business was to turn off Margaery’s location settings to avoid the phone being found right away.  Rickon had taught her that there were other ways of having your phone tracked, but they usually required some sort of software that she was pretty sure the Tyrells wouldn’t think to use, and would take some time to hire someone who would.  Petyr scrolled through her recent calls, appearing disinterested in the numbers, until he got towards the bottom.  His thumb stopped swiping as he looked up at her, “This is the number.”  

They had not tried dialing it from a Tyrell phone before.  Sansa bet someone would pick up if they called from Margaery’s own phone.  Petyr raised his finger to his lips, as if she required a reminder not to speak.  She nodded slightly and leaned in, both Baelishes hunched over the phone set in the palm of his hand.  

It rang loudly on speaker when he pressed the call button.  Sansa’s breath caught in her throat after the first ring, and then she got an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach when the phone rang a second time with no answer.  It was in the middle of the third ring, that there was silence and then a surly voice followed.  “I told you, lose this number.  We only speak with your Queen of Thorns.  Let the grown ups handle the business.”  Petyr did not appear as confused by “Queen of Thorns,” as Sansa was, though he said nothing.  

The person on the other side of the phone, the other side of the water, where all the shipments came from, hung up.  Whoever he was, he thought he was talking to Margaery Tyrell, and _he hung up_.  Petyr instantly deleted that call from the recent call history and walked over to the stairs, calling Jon back.  

Jon accepted the phone from Petyr with the strict instruction to crush it into tiny pieces and then set it in the road outside the club.  It would look as though Margaery dropped it.  A phone falling where somewhere someone could get to it, and whatever sensitive information that may be on it, would lead the Tyrells to look at the last people they’d been with.  If the lost phone had, however, somehow been destroyed, it would make it impossible to retrieve anything from it.  The false sense of security that the staged accident would provide, would keep the Tyrells from looking further.  Cars ran over things left on the pavement every day.  There was no hidden agenda to that.

Sansa turned away, to get a better view of the crowd below, feeling the vibration of the music through the railing that she held for stability.  It was called the Rose Room, though it was truly a loft that rose above the dance floor, only two sides of it open to the lights and music.  The couches, meant to lounge and fuck on, sat far enough away to allow privacy when seated.  Against the back wall, was a private bathroom, and another small room for even more privacy still.  The luscious red and purple upholstery was velvety smooth to the touch, and the gold leaf trim on the furniture glittered under the flash of the lights.  This was to be their daughter’s one day.

There were touches of Loras everywhere, and Renly.  Roses embossed, embroidered, and imprinted from the rough carpeted floor to the mirrored ceiling, reminding visitors who ruled this room.  Sansa ran her fingers over the ornate railing, feeling the bumps and grooves of the decorative roses.  Her index finger traced the thorns of the stem and she began to think of “the boys” that owned this property prior, that she used to brunch with.

The movement of her hair tickled against her skin, as Petyr shifted it over her shoulder.  His hands came up around it, working his thumbs into the top of her now exposed neck.  Her eyes closed as she asked, “Queen of Thorns?”  

“I don’t know for sure.”  His hands came down to her shoulders, his thumbs wearing into the tightened muscles there.  “Though, I have an idea.”

Ever so slowly, his hands moved down her back, working the muscles on either side of her spine.  Sansa gripped the railing, using it to brace herself against the steady massage.  She hadn’t realized how sore she’d become, how tired, carrying around such weight.  His hands found her lower back, rubbing and kneading, as he kissed her shoulder.  Sansa winced a little when she heard him whisper, “ _Olenna_.”  

She was growing weary of this game, this juggling between the lions and the roses, losing track of the changes her own little family was undergoing.  Part of her felt ashamed that she didn't immediately jump into action, continuing to pick at the mystery of the speedy Tyrell shipments.  Part of her felt nothing, too exhausted by the back and forth of it.  

Focus was needed.  There was more here than just this mystery.  Petyr and Sansa were working together to set up a key family member to die, and doing so through other key family members.  The pieces were in play, Cersei was made aware of her son’s relationship, Joffrey was encouraged to propose to the whore, and Olyvar was so firmly implanted to spy and manipulate as much as he could.  

Every piece was placed masterfully.  And where was Sansa?  In her home, washing all of the baby clothes that she still hadn’t yet purchased?  Folding them, and putting them away, deciding which drawer to put what in?  No.  She closed her eyes and watched the lights flash across the back of her eyelids.  She wasn’t doing any of that stuff at all, and even just mention of the aged Tyrell’s name utterly sapped her of any energy she might have to do any of those things.  

Sansa opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling, looking at her husband’s reflection behind her.  Before he had a chance to say any more on the subject, Sansa searched for anything to derail the conversation.  “Lancel’s made someone unhappy.”  

Sansa could swear she felt Petyr smile over her shoulder as he asked, “What makes you think that?”  

“He was wearing an ascot, a clear sign that he’s been placed on shopping-bitch duty with Cersei.  He only ever gets tossed aside to her like that when either she or Jaime is displeased with him.”  Sansa glanced up to the ceiling again to verify her husband’s smile.  “But you know that, Petyr.”  

“Mm,” he didn’t try to deny it, his grin only growing.  

Sansa had only taken this route to avoid anymore Tyrell drama, though was now finding herself interested in the latest with Lancel.  It would surely be more amusing to her than the Tyrells.  She was less personally invested in Lancel’s struggles than she was that of the Tyrells.  What did she care what Lancel did?  In addition to those valid points, Petyr didn’t seem surprised about him.  He was up to something.  “What do you think Lancel did?”  

Petyr shrugged, “Hmm. I couldn’t say.”  

He was trying to divert her, speaking in half truths.  Sansa was not born yesterday and she had not just met her husband today.  She knew him better than anyone else.  “Couldn’t say?  Or _won’t_ say?”

His fingers lifted, his hands retracting as he turned away and sighed, “I don’t care about Lancel.”  He strode back to the couch they had been sitting on and sat down.  “Come sit with me?”

For the first time in a while, she looked at her husband, really looked.  He was tired too.  She wasn’t sure what from: the Tyrells, the Lannisters, her hormones, the baby, whatever was going on with Lancel?  Maybe it was all of it. It was for her. How strange that she had started the night suffering the build-up of a desire that grew throughout the day. She had wanted nothing but the rough friction that a firm cock between her legs could promise. Yet now, as she looked at Petyr, asking her merely to sit with him, _be_ with him, she had both come full circle and discovered a new path altogether.

She no longer looked only for friction, an engorged cunt throbbing to be repeatedly beaten by a stiff rod, though she still had a mind to feel him, to reach out to the man who called her to his side.  Sansa turned away from the railing and approached the couch. Rather than offer instructions, she placed her hands on his shoulders and guided him to turn and angle his body to the side.  The couch was not wide enough for her to straddle him if he laid down normally, so she turned him to rest his back where the arm of the couch met the back, and nudged him so that he reclined.  One leg laid out on the couch, dangling over the side and the other stayed bent, foot flat on the floor.  

Petyr appeared a tad curious, but compliant.  She knew that he was not surprised at her sexual appetite, or her fetish for satiating it in public places.  He was not used to seeing her change so drastically over the course of hours.  Where before she bent herself over a table and told Petyr to fuck her immediately, she was now showing a careful compassion that had not been there previously.  She would not speak, demand, or command.  Her body would only guide, indicate, and encourage.

Sansa gently bumped her knees against his, tickled his shin with her raising foot, and brought her thigh to rest on one side of him.  As Petyr sat back and watched, she straddled his lap, lifting and fanning out the hem of her dress before she sat on his groin.  Underwear was not an article of clothing that had been handed to her when Petyr picked out her clothes.  In the haste of their departure, it could have been an oversight, though, knowing Petyr, it was more likely an ongoing suggestion as to her degree of dress.

He grew firm under the heat that grazed over his pants as she rocked on him, silently _asking_ him for their intimacy.  Having been together for some time now, growing so comfortable with each other, they had stopped asking. At least, she had. Sex had become a certainty. Either of them need only express a desire, and it was freely given. It was so simple and automatic.  Neither person was concerned about whether or not they were in the mood, as they would willingly become so for the other.  

It was exciting and nerve-wracking to _ask_ , to take the chance of being denied. He wouldn’t.  She knew that, obviously.  Posing her seduction so tentatively, gave the appearance of that risk, and it only interested her more.  Petyr did not leave her to hang long, giving his approval by rolling his hips up into the bare womanhood that opened so daringly over the button hook and zipper of his pants.

His hand held her thigh, stabilizing her on top of him as she moved, while the other one slid down below her belly. Sansa reached for the back of the couch beside her and let her head loll back at the massage, slow and deliberate between her folds. When she opened her eyes, their reflection in the mirror above them, stole her attention.  There was something so empowering about seeing her husband laying back on the couch, as if entranced by some spell, keeping him there, as she sat atop him.  His head tilted as the tickling tingle inside of her grew to a frantic flutter, his eyes drinking in the way her body twitched for him.  

Sansa knew she should look down, meet his eye directly, as she felt him unzip his pants.  The  reflection was beautiful, but it was a distraction. She lifted her head back up and stared down at the round of her belly, covering so much from view.  He still had his shirt on, as he was surprised by her desire, expecting only to hold her close as they continued the exhausting discussion of business.  She missed seeing his scar--her scar.  

When her eyes met his, the lights of the club in the background changed them, gave the green irises an extra shine, a glitter even.  As if she was now the one in a trance, she held his gaze as she shifted to allow his positioning, feeling his hands wrestle himself out under her. She would take him inside her, not just for the friction as before, but to hold him close, in her own way.  There were so many things left unsaid, so many questions unanswered.  

Her eyelids grew heavy and closed as she sank onto him, feeling entirely whole.  His hands traveled to her hardened belly, and she brought hers to rest on top of his, nurturing their need for each other.  This was what mattered. The rest of the world could wait until tomorrow.  

 


	35. Memory Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was not easy giving Petyr the slip, but Sansa was probably the most qualified person to do so, knowing his blind spots.

There was a long inhale, a pause, and then a loud exhale.  Sansa knew her younger sister was taking a drag off of her cigarette.  It was her way of slowing conversations down to think about what she wanted to say.  “Go pound sand.”  It was also her way of ensuring the greatest dramatic effect before offering a finishing blow in an argument.

“ _Arya_.”  Sansa appealed to her.  It wasn’t until her fourth attempt at talking with her that Arya had finally answered her phone and she was already ending it.  Cell phones didn’t offer the same satisfying slam and resulting ‘click’ that landlines did.  The dial tone buzzing in Sansa’s ear, however, served the same purpose: Arya’s final reply.

That night, as she lay in bed, Sansa was surprised to find that Petyr did not seem to be on her side of the conversation.  He was rubbing cocoa butter onto her belly at the time, and Sansa wrapped her fingers around his wrist, stilling his motion.  It was a silent threat to toss his hand aside, ripping him from their intimate contact.  She sent him a warning glare, “ _Explain._ ”  

Petyr sighed, finally getting the message that he perhaps would not be rubbing any of her softer places that evening.  “You’ve been calling her.”

“And?”  Sansa furrowed her brow further.  

He slowly lowered his head to place a kiss to the back of the hand that held his wrist.  “Arya is important to you.  And she’s not going to be our baby’s godmother.  That hurts.”  

“She’ll get over it.  Things happen, we move on.”  Sansa raised her chin and let go of his wrist.  She’d said the last she would on the matter and was satisfied that her word was absolute.  

Until she heard a soft laugh.  She peered down at her husband, “Excuse me?”  

Petyr kissed her belly again.  “You’re only saying that because you’re mad.  You’re hurt that she won’t hear you out.”  When Sansa started to shake her head, he laughed again, “Yes.”  

“You don’t know Arya.”  Sansa insisted.  

“I know people, and I like to think that by now I’m starting to know her too.”  Petyr gave a smug grin.  “She feels disrespected.   _So_ , it would help to show her some respect.”  

“I have been initiating, haven’t I?”  Sansa cocked an eyebrow.  

Petyr chuckled again, “And you know that calling is not enough for someone like her.”  

“Someone like her?”  Sansa felt her blood heat, defensiveness rising for her sister, even if they weren’t exactly on talking terms.  Even if she had insinuated that Sansa hid behind business, using it as an excuse for everything.  Even if she all but said that Sansa never lifted a finger anymore, too good to do anything but manipulate others into doing her bidding.  Arya was her sister, and she wasn’t sure she liked what Petyr was implying.  

Petyr sighed again, “All I’m saying is that Arya would probably prefer a grand gesture.  Like a visit in person.”

Fuck.  He was right and she knew it.  Sansa just had a lot on her mind and would be lying if she said she wasn’t more than a little offended by the things Arya said in their very short exchange. Altercation, more-like.  

Rationally, Sansa knew that Arya wasn’t aware of all the things that she’d been a part of.  Granted, she wasn’t as active right now, being just four weeks from her due date, but that didn’t mean that she was useless.  She reminded herself that business was not an excuse, it was a justification.  Arya clearly didn’t understand that, and Sansa resented suddenly feeling like she wasn’t pulling her own weight anymore.  It was feelings like those that fostered rash decisions in people and Sansa was not immune to this effect.  

Days later, when Sansa looked in the mirror, she almost didn’t recognize herself, fingering the long, brown strands of hair that came below her shoulders and lay flat on her chest.  Every ounce of reason in her screamed that this was a horrible plan, but she refused to listen. It had been a long time since she donned this wig.  Unfortunately, her activities today would not be anywhere near as enjoyable as they had been the last time she wore it.   _Petyr._

She let her thoughts drift to her husband, guilt picking at her for the deception.  He would never agree to this.  On a normal day, she wouldn’t either.  Mindful of the shotgun shell pendant between her breasts, Sansa cursed her sister’s effect on her.  Unwilling to look back now, Sansa stepped out of the bathroom and faced Jon’s judgement.  “You do not have to agree with me to protect me.”  

Jon silently fumed. Sansa raised an eyebrow at him, “Or do you?”  

His look of irritation quickly turned to indignation as he glared at her.  His hands rose to remind her never to question his loyalty to her again.  She nodded at him, not offering an apology.  He had always been devoted to Sansa, and she did know that.  While Jon’s moral compass tended to point a bit truer than hers, his hands had bathed in blood many times as well.  

She knew she was being argumentative because of her nerves.  It did not feel right to move without Petyr, though it felt worse to sit on the sidelines, left out of everything.  She had promised that she would not go after Margaery, but she never said that she wouldn’t investigate other matters.  The Tyrells were up to something, and Olenna was still very much back in the game.  She had to be. Wasn’t that what the gruff male voice on the other side of Margaery’s phone suggested?  Amusement tickled Sansa’s insides, knowing that they had no use for Margaery herself, going so far as to tell her to leave business for the “grown ups.”  

Jon was already walking down the hall to the back door; they didn’t have much time.  Sansa had hoped that Rickon was able to buy them more by disabling the GPS on both their phones.  Even though they were taking Jon’s car, Sansa wouldn’t put it past Petyr to have Jon’s vehicle tracked through his GPS too, so Sansa asked Rickon to interfere with that while Petyr drove them in that morning.  It was not easy giving Petyr the slip, but Sansa was probably the most qualified person to do so, knowing his blind spots.  

When she insisted on going to work, Petyr eyed her suspiciously.  She hated that he already sensed deep down on some level to question.  “Sansa, you’re thirty-six weeks along.  No one will fault you if you take it easy from here on out.”  

She channelled the anger she felt at her sister’s words and the lonely feeling that grew inside her each time she was sure she was missing out because of her pregnancy and balled her fists until her knuckles were white.  She spoke through her teeth, “I am not on bed rest.”  

His tone was even and his movements careful as he slowly shook his head.  “No one is saying you are.”  She let him gently pull her into a tentative embrace as he tried a different angle, “It’s just not _necessary_ for you to push yourself.”  

She remained firm, not only because this was her way out, but also because she was suddenly not appreciating how the conversation was going.  “Lots of women work up until the moment their water breaks. There is nothing wrong with staying active up until the end. In fact, it is probably best.”  

Petyr ran his teeth over his bottom lip, uncomfortably.  “I am only saying that you don’t _have to_.  I mean, it’s not as if we need the money.”  

That did it.  Every muscle in her body went rigid and she tore out of his grip, “So my work doesn’t matter?”

“I am not saying that.”  

“Yes, you are.”  She held her belly and all but shouted, “I see how it is now. ‘ _Oh, Sansa, I respect that you want to keep a legitimate business running._ ’  Bullshit. ‘ _Oh, Sansa, I think it’s great that you want to keep something of your parents alive._ ’ Ha!”

The great Petyr ‘Littlefinger’ Baelish hung his head in defeat.  There was no winning when she was quoting him.  She continued, “All until you knock me up.  Was that part of your plan?”  She mocked his voice, spouting some sneaky angle, _“I know, I’ll support her until I can pop a bun in that oven and then she’ll have to give everything up and stay home. Then I’ll really have her all to myself._ ”

Petyr rolled his eyes, “Are you going to add an evil laugh in there too?”  

“I don’t know, Petyr, _did you_?”  Sansa crossed her arms.  She knew that this was a bit much even for her, often drunk on hormones and jealousy.  For the briefest of seconds she wondered how amusing this show would be were she not in it.  She wouldn’t let her thoughts linger long, having a whopping dose of self-righteousness to roll with.

He reached out to her, and she moved away.  “Sansa, you’re being--”

“ _What?_  What am I being, Petyr?  Go ahead and tell me.  Tell me that I’m being irrational because my husband now suddenly won’t support me in working.” Sansa kept her arms crossed and her chin up, universal body language for ‘fuck off.”

Petyr slowly approached her, and held both hands up, surrendering to her. Sansa did not move.  His voice soothed, “I know that this is important to you.” He slid his palms over her arms and up to her shoulders.  “And I am supportive.”

She scoffed.  

One hand held her shoulder, while the other found the side of her neck, his thumb trailing along her throat until it reached her chin.  He used his new position to make her look at him.  “And I am also protective.”

Sansa felt her heart speed up, affected by his ability to calm the situation by pulling upon her attraction to his dominant male nature.  This whole thing was only a manipulation, just an act to get to Stark Naked so she could slip out the back.  He kept talking, he kept resisting, putting up roadblocks.  She had to up the ante.  It would have never gone this far if he had just smiled and agreed with her decision to go to work that day.

She sighed through her nostrils, feeling his warmth around her.  “You would protect me to the point of seclusion.”  

“Yes.”  

Her eyes shot up, shocked by his admission.  

“And I know that’s wrong.”  Petyr shrugged before leaning forward to kiss her cheek.  “You are too independent to be kept sequestered, just because I’m greedy with my treasure.”

She had never been likened to loot before, and she found it oddly flattering, especially now that her ankles were swollen by the end of each day and she was winded walking up a flight of stairs.  Petyr took advantage of her silence, and kissed over to her ear. “It is difficult for me to go against my instincts. To stay so focused on what is right for you, when I want to do what feels good to me.”  

“Poor Petyr.”  Sansa’s tone mocked him even though his words were warming the sore spot between her legs.

“Indeed.”  He brought her earlobe into his mouth, gently sucking on her earrings.  “Ride with me?”  

She gulped, trying to stay focused.  She had to get to the art gallery.  She couldn’t allow her attention to be pulled in such a lustful way.  “I just told you, I’m going to work.”  

“I know.”  He nuzzled into her, “So am I. Let’s _carpool_.”

Sansa smiled as she glanced to the lobby, knowing that Petyr was up in his office, looking down through the glass of Stark Naked, hoping to see her.  She had donated a solid forty minutes to being visible in the lobby before she smiled through the glass and spoke into the phone telling him that she did need to visit her office at some point that day.  He sighed and told her that he wasn’t getting much work done this way either.  Petyr was amazing at multitasking, so she doubted that, but used it to help excuse herself from sight.  

She opened the back door, the blinding sun forcing her to pause for a moment to adjust.  When Petyr had told her that he would drive her to work, she texted Jon to drive over separately and park in the back.  She was thankful that Petyr didn’t press the issue when he realized that Jon was not accompanying them that morning.  Perhaps he thought she would be safe enough with his eyes on her.

When she got in Jon’s car, her dishonesty with Petyr picked at her, making her feel dirty and low.  Petyr was the one person with which she could tell absolutely anything.  The man was never fazed, and only wanted to help her in everything.  He would be hurt should he ever find out about this.  Sansa took a deep breath and reminded herself that sometimes the end did justify the means and that she would keep this secret guarded closely to protect her lover from the pain he would feel should he find out.  

It seemed like mere minutes before Jon had put the car in park and pulled a stray strand of his curly brown locks back behind his ear.  His hand reached across the console, finding hers.  Sansa had been focused on the movement of her child, when she startled and looked up, “What?”  She would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little surprised that Jon was willing to touch her, even in the most modest and supportive way.  Ever since he’d caught her and Petyr in the act, he’d been a lot shier around her.  It was as if he were a child who walked in on mom and dad, and took to eating supper in his room to avoid the embarrassment of direct communication.  For him to touch her now, however benign, meant something.

His eyebrows wrinkled and he turned to look out the windshield, nodding his head towards the retirement village sign. Olenna’s. It was time. Sansa straightened her wig again and smoothed her hands over the cream colored sundress she wore.  She picked it because it was a floral print: blue roses, and not something that Sansa Baelish would be caught dead in.  Alayne Stone, devoted big-box store shopper, on the other hand would deem it an exceptional find.  

Sansa wasn’t one for cloak and dagger, but many people still watched Olenna, Petyr and herself included. It was well known that only Loras and Margaery visited their grandmother: Loras on holidays and rare occasions, and Margaery on a weekly basis.  A visit from anyone else would be suspicious, and Sansa knew that.  It was part of why she knew this was a horrible plan.  More suspicious would be, if the person visiting had bright red hair and signed her name in the visitor log as _Sansa Baelish_.  

As she walked across the parking lot, she became more conscious of her baby bump.  Hair was easy to change and so weren’t names, for that matter.  “Pregnant” as a descriptor, was less so.  There was only so much she could do. She resolved to be in an out, get what she needed and be gone.  

It wasn’t until she was lifting her pen up from the last cursive “e,” that she realized something extremely important; she had no idea what she would say once she saw Olenna.  She hadn’t thought that far ahead, which made her somewhat wish she’d shared this with Petyr.  He would have thought of what to say, what false pretense to use.  

A tear welled up in her eye as she questioned whether it was her hormones to blame for her naivety or her lack of experience.  She’d only been Sansa Baelish just short of three years now.  Petyr had been at this a lot longer and she was not as quick on her feet as him when it came to manipulation, though she was learning fast.  Sansa spun her wedding ring around her finger, loosening it to take it off, hiding away anything that could identify her as a Baelish.  She was disheartened to find that her fingers had swollen so much that she could not remove the ring.  Sansa glanced down at her belly, and realized that it was probably best for her to be wearing a wedding ring seeing as how she was in a “family way.”  Elderly people tended to care about that sort of thing.

_No hiding you,_ she thought privately to her daughter as she waited for one of the receptionists to assist her.  She felt her locket dangle from her wrist and her heart hung heavy for a moment as she thought to herself, _But you, I will keep to myself._  She unhooked the bracelet and slid it into her purse.  She didn’t appreciate having to take it off but wanted the privacy of her family protected.  

“Miss Stone?”  A greying woman in khakis and a polo shirt called out from behind the counter, reading the visitor log.

Sansa looked up, “Yes?”  

“Right this way.”  The woman guided her to Olenna’s room.  She blathered on about the senior community and what recreations were offered.  With each step closer, Sansa felt her heart slam hard against her chest, reminding her how unprepared she was to see the woman face to face.  She appeared senile at the funeral, but too much led back to her for that to be true.  

The door slowly swung back, and the pungent smell of potpourri filled Sansa’s nostrils. The curtains had been tied off, allowing the warm sunshine to fill the room.  An easy chair, angled toward the window, came low enough to reveal a head of soft white curls that almost glowed in the sunlight. The sound of the door latching shut roused Sansa from her trance and she looked over quickly, seeing that she was now alone with Olenna Tyrell.  

“Is it tea time already?”  The old lady asked, not stirring from her seat.  

Sansa remained silent, carefully stepping closer.  Very slowly, more of her came into view, it was the same soft face and bewildered voice that Sansa had seen before.  She hadn’t yet turned as she asked, “Will there be lemon cakes this time?”

Silence was Sansa’s safest play.  She bit her tongue as she edged around the side of her.  “Well?”  Olenna asked with mild exasperation before craning her neck around, coming face to face with Sanse. “ _Cat!_ ”  

Sansa knees buckled from the impact of her mother’s name exclaimed so freely.  

Olenna’s face brightened.  She reached forward, stopping just short of touching Sansa’s brown locks, “You’ve changed your hair.  Mad at Ned again?”  

The breath that Sansa had been holding, escaped with a light chuckle.  She had no idea what Olenna was playing at, and couldn’t help laugh at the absurdity of it. Olenna turned completely in her seat and gestured to the one opposite, “Sit. Oh, look at you.”  

Sansa looked down at her belly.  Olenna was smiling, as she rummaged under her chair with one hand. “You would never know it to look at him, but your Ned is a naughty bugger isn’t he?”

Sansa’s eyes bulged and she coughed a little.  Olenna pulled out a bottle of scotch and smiled, “Oh, come now.  No need for modesty.  You’ve grown quite the wolf pack to prove it.”

Olenna pulled out a deck of cards and dropped a cribbage board on the table. Without hesitation she started shuffling.  “Once your husband gets over himself, we won’t have to meet in secret any longer.”  

Sansa smiled back, bewildered.  Olenna had confused her for Catelyn Stark, and Sansa felt a familiar gnawing in her chest.  It was in the same place reserved for the absence of her mother, and though she battened down the hatches as much as she could, it was not an impenetrable place.  Sansa channelled Petyr.  He would not be so easily affected. Instead he would be examining the situation closer.  

According to everyone of importance, Olenna was smart and crafty. If this were all an act, she would recognize Sansa for who she was and she would turn up the dramatics in the way that would affect her the most, using her mother. Petyr would have tested her somehow.  Sansa picked up her hand of cards and watched as Olenna poured her some scotch in her tea cup. If she was going to identify Sansa as her mother, then Sansa would play that game as well.  “Men rarely ‘ _get over_ ’ themselves.”  

Olenna smirked, “You’re all business today, Cat. I can tell.”  She shifted her cards in her hand, watching Sansa closely.  

Carefully picking her words, Sansa admitted, “I do have some things on my mind, yes.”  

“The Mormont girl? Or the shipments?”  Olenna didn’t mince words, getting straight to whatever point it was she was making.  If this was a farce, she was doing a poor job of it.  Sansa tried to think of where she’d heard the name: Mormont. Unable to place it, she knew it felt familiar.

Sansa would absorb whatever information offered, regardless of how tainted it may be coming from someone she inherently distrusted.  Her and Petyr could sift through it later to pull out whatever truth they could.  “Both.”  

“Ah,”  Olenna moved her red peg on the board.  “Well, allow me to put your mind at ease.  I assured the Mormont woman that we would still work with her and her husband, regardless of his disgrace.”  

Sansa saw a hint of hesitation in the old woman’s eyes.  There was something there.  If Olenna Tyrell exhibited reluctance, there must have been something more.  Not allowing herself to second guess it, Sansa jumped on it, “You did what?”  

“Oh, Cat, don’t be cross.  I understand that the Mormonts are a Northern family, but the debt was owed to us. It was my right to determine.”  Olenna sipped the scotch from her tea cup.  

Sansa studied the woman.  There was no discernable crack in her facade, no tell in her presentation.  “Of course.”  Sansa let the subject go, knowing nothing about it and realizing that it could very easily be inconsequential.  Sansa wouldn’t put it past her to bring up names and issues that were not important, to derail her from her focus.  It also could have been real and Olenna could have been talking about something that happened many years ago.  

Feeling frustrated by the situation, Sansa made a show of looking around. “Where are we?”  

Olenna gawked at her as if she had multiple heads, “The old folks home, of course.”  Olenna eyed her skeptically, “Did you forget where your driver dropped you?”  

Olenna knew she was in a retirement home.  She was aware of her surroundings.  Sansa took that as confirmation that it truly was an act.  Olenna rolled her eyes, “Margaery’s idea to fool the other families into thinking I’d lost my marbles.  It was quite clever at first.”  She sipped her scotch, “But it’s gotten quite long in the tooth, I’m afraid. There’s nothing to do stuck with a bunch of old codgers drooling on themselves, waiting for calls.”  

Sansa had known that business calls with Olenna occurred, but hearing it confirmed made her palms itch with a desire to slap her for her deception.  Regardless of how old and feeble she may be, she had succeeded at fooling everybody.  Olenna smiled at her, “Thank you so much, Cat, for breaking up the monotony of this long con.”  

What?  She had just admitted that she was pretending, and yet she insisted on acting as if Sansa was Catelyn.  Unsure of what to say, Sansa nodded her head and shifted the cards around her hand.  For once, she was grateful that her mother had insisted she learn how to play.  Sansa wondered if this right here was what her mother was preparing her for.  Were these meetings something that really happened between two family heads?

“How long do you have before Ned realizes you’re gone?”

Slipping into role of Catelyn, Sansa thought of how long she would have before Petyr would become suspicious and then subtracted out travel time.  “Till quarter to.”  

Olenna nodded and then winked to accompany her smile, “Well, it’s a good thing I can hand your ass to you in record time.”  She tapped the cards with her fingers, taunting her.

Sansa laughed, and tried to act at ease.  “So prickly.  They don’t call you the ‘Queen of Thorns’ for no reason.”  

She waited, watching for Olenna’s response.  The woman shrugged, “And here I thought it was just a term of endearment from my philandering husband.”  

Sansa chuckled, genuinely.  Olenna was a far cry from the empty-headed woman she’d seen before in a more public eye.  If _that_ was the show, what was this?  Sansa could see how her mother may have enjoyed her company.   _Mom_. Sansa had to focus. “You were going to tell me about shipments.”  

“Yes.  I wanted to offer the Starks in on this.”  Olenna smirked.  

“Oh?”  Sansa tried to adopt the same sort of cautious look her mother was known to give.

“The Harpy are under new management.  They are renegotiating contracts with a select few families.”  Olenna explained.  

“Select families?”

Olenna poured more scotch into her cup.  “Yes.  They won’t work with Baelish, specifically.  Not that he’s a family, they always get their facts wrong over there.  So, he’s just ruined the Arryn name instead.”

All the hairs on her arms stood on end, hearing her husband’s name. “Baelish?”  

“You know him.  Don’t pretend you don’t, not with me. We’ve been allied too long, gained too much respect, for you to suddenly play ignorant to your sister’s shameful behavior.  Lord knows I own all of my family’s embarrassments.”  She threw her hand down, “Your deal.”  

Automatically reaching for the cards, Sansa gave the action no thought before she began shuffling them.  Olenna continued, “Lysa...she’s always been an odd fish.  Everyone knows that.  But, her shacking up with him so obviously, it’s a disgrace.”  

“I don’t think she’s been that open about it.” Sansa tapped her mother’s reserve.  

Olenna scoffed.  “They know about the two of them from across the narrow sea.  Though, I think they may have been confused.  They said they wouldn’t work with Baelish _or_ his _wife._ ”  

Another nail in the coffin.  Sansa felt her heart race, hearing the senile woman jumble the past and present.  Mechanically dealing out the cards, Sansa listened to Olenna conclude, “If they think Lysa’s his wife, they obviously know about their affair.  I know she’s your sister, Cat, and we must be loyal to our families.”  She looked down at Sansa’s belly, “Though, she’s an aunt now.  And she’s been crazy for some time.  It might be best to lock her in an attic already.”  

Sansa blinked, shaken by her candor.  Olenna stared back before breaking out into a loud cackle.  “Oh, Cat.  You should see your face.”  

A burning desire to know why her husband had been spurned so, Sansa asked, “Did they say why they won’t work with Baelish?”  

Olenna shrugged, “Probably because he’s slime. A bottom-feeder fucking his way to some level of mediocre importance. The same reason why you can’t stand him. He preys upon the weak like Lysa, and polishes the balls of the strong.”  

Sansa felt her shoulders raise at the assault on her husband’s name.  What did this grey-haired, saggy-faced bitch know about Petyr?  Not a _fucking_ thing.  Her hand tightened around the tea cup and she brought it to her lips, taking a sip for the first time.  It was alcohol, yes. It was bad for the baby, yes.  It was a sip, and it was probably the only thing keeping Sansa from flying at the woman. The burn of it grounded her, soothing the inflammation she felt down until her emotions were more manageable.

The baby kicked and she instantly felt guilty for her impulsive decision.  It was all apparently too much internal struggle to hide because Olenna noticed, “This pregnancy has been quite hard on you, hasn’t it?”  

“Why would you say that?”  Sansa asked, feeling a bit caught.

“Because, I’m the one who’s supposed to have cracked, and you’re the one who can’t remember what you said the last time we met.”  Olenna laughed.  

Sansa forced a cordial smile, and then rubbed her hand over the baby.  “And here I thought pregnancy was supposed to be easier each time.”  

Olenna stared down at her cards, “Well, to be fair, you’re having a girl.”  

“You can’t know that.”  Sansa blinked back.  

The old woman’s laugh came straight from her belly and filled the room.  “Look at how you are carrying.  Of course it’s a girl.  Besides, Ned’s a sucker for equality.  You have three boys and two girls now, it’s only right that you even it all out with another girl.”  

Sansa let out a soft chuckle.  “I don’t think nature cares about that.”  

“You better hope it does.”  Olenna laughed again, “Or else your husband will just keep at you until he gets his symmetry.”  

“I don’t think _Ned,_ ” the word sounded so foreign to her, “cares much about that.”  Sansa shook her head.  

Olenna laughed, “No, probably not.  But husbands will use any excuse to have sex.”  

Sansa was not appreciating the direction this conversation was going in the slightest.  It was hard for her to imagine her mother and father as she’d learned them to be in her adulthood.  Her memories were of them being so controlled and moderate in their public displays of affection.  She moved her green peg on the board and asked, “Were there other families?”  

“Yes.”  All the humor drained from Olenna’s face and her lips pursed.  “I know that you have a fondness for the girl, but I don’t trust her.”  

Sansa had once learned from Petyr, that if she didn’t want to keep appearing ignorant, continually asking questions, she may keep her response to one word spoken in a tone of judgement.  She pursed her own lips to match the old woman as she said, “ _Olenna._ ”

“I know we differ on this, but the Harpy’s my connection, and just as I can steer them towards your family, I am well within my rights to steer them away from another.”  Olenna moved her peg again, shaking her head in certainty.  

Sansa eyed her as she worked her hand of cards.  She would remain silent and wait for the Tyrell to explain further.  The sound of people walking up and down the hallway outside her room murmured in the background.  Finally, Olenna sighed.  “Look, I understand that Robert was a pill, but that doesn’t excuse the murder.”  

Robert.  Murder.  Sansa turned the words over in her mind.  Olenna picked up the cards, shuffling.  “And don’t tell me that climbing into a Lannister bed of all places wasn’t intentional, either.”  

Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister.  It finally struck Sansa who the Queen of Thorns was talking about.  They had just traveled further back in time in their conversation, without notice.  Sansa would have motion sickness if she tried to stand. For whatever reason, one she couldn’t identify, Sansa felt a touch defensive at Olenna’s words. “She was just a child when she married Robert.”  

“Weren’t we all children when we started this life?  Were we all innocent back then?  I know I wasn’t.  And neither were you, if I remember correctly.”  Olenna stared into Sansa’s eyes, as if silently confessing the crimes of her youth and holding her accountable for her mother’s.  

Sansa wouldn’t allow herself to fall in the trap of trying to learn her mother’s crimes, though it definitely peaked her curiosity. She needed to keep the conversation going. Looking for something bland to say, she considered her words against Cersei. She had seen the way Jaime held Cersei and killed anyone that dared to speak Robert’s name. Love was an unstoppable magnetic attraction that one simply could not avoid. There was no stepping out of the way of love or deciding to ignore it.  Sansa remembered the first time she saw Petyr. Even though she belonged to another, and thoughts of revenge were all-consuming, Petyr Baelish kept invading her mind.  There was no denying what she felt for him, or abating her need to have him. Olenna was a fool if she did not, or _chose not_ , to understand that. “Love is a very unpredictable.”  

“It is not love, Cat.  Everyone knows Jaime is a walking hard on. Cersei’s smart to use what’s between her legs to raise her standing.” Olenna took another sip of her drink and then tilted her head and smiled, “And we are wise to see through it, and deny her entrance to our world at every opportunity. She’s no different than Baelish, really. She just has a cunt.”  

“ _How astute of you_.” Sansa’s voice ground out.  No wonder Cersei was the way she was, if this was the reception she got from the other families.  

“I knew you’d be mad,”  Olenna sighed, “but I respect you and your family too much to sugar coat anything.  The Starks and the Tyrells have kept peace for many years.  It’s because we belong, you and I. We are not the _Cerseis_ or the _Baelishes_ of the world.”

Sansa remembered the regal way her mother carried herself around others and thought of what she would say in this situation. Catelyn Stark was a very different woman with her children than she was with the outside world.  When Sansa was younger, she hated it, telling her mother how fake she was to be putting on such airs around people. She understood now, though. More than she wanted to.  Catelyn Stark had a family to raise and a territory to run, and by the looks of it, she did a considerable amount of it secretly, without her husband’s help. The tone of her voice matched the tone her mother often gave business associates that came by the house, “I am not upset and I do not favor her.  I do not crucify her for her circumstances. It is not the same thing.  You and I belong because we know how to conduct business.”  

“Too right.”  

Sansa put her feelings aside, and took the opportunity to mine a little further.  “I appreciate your thinking of us.  How do we get in with the new management?”  

Olenna grinned triumphantly.  “I’m pleased to hear you’re interested. Should I wait until you’ve consulted with Ned?  Or trust that you will convince him?”  

Sansa nodded, “Don’t worry about Ned.” It was odd that saying her father’s name felt less strange on the tongue this time.  

“Perfect.  As soon as they are set up over here, I will tell them that the Starks are interested.”  Olenna smiled.  

“Set up over here?”  Sansa’s eyebrows furrowed.  

“Yes.  We have some properties we plan to sell to them at a significant discount, just to get them established.  This will of course positively impact our shipping as a result. Perhaps you have some properties that you and Ned are willing to part with, too?  It doesn’t have to be your best.  Just a place for them to land.”  Olenna smiled.  

“Which properties are you giving them?”  Sansa asked, seeing how much the Tyrell would divulge.  

Olenna started to talk and then stopped.  “You know, it’s the strangest thing. I can’t remember. It was on the tip of my tongue. I just can’t remember. Margaery knows. Though, I suppose she’s probably too busy with wedding planning right now to be bothered.”  Olenna leaned in, her eyes widening, “She’s all done husband hunting.”  

“Oh?”  Sansa’s smile was meant to look supportive, though she knew it contained hints of pride in her husband’s work.  “Who’s the lucky man.”  

“He’s a Lannister.  It’s smart.  The bloodline is good.  And parts of the name can be saved.  Cersei hasn’t tainted the whole gene pool yet.”  Olenna shook her head, “Margaery said his name was Joffrey, but that can’t be right, Joffrey’s just a baby.”  Olenna waved her hand.  “She’s beautiful, and smarter than most, but at times I think she inhales too much hairspray.”  

Sansa laughed, unrestrained.  Her daughter kicked her disapproval at being shifted around so, and Sansa pushed back on her belly, moving little feet and knees out from under her ribcage.  Olenna laughed with her until she started to yawn.  “I apologize. I’ve been so exhausted lately.  I don’t know what it is.”  

“Probably boredom.”  Sansa looked around the room.  This woman with such a firecracker personality was kept here, surrounded by manilla colored walls and floral print bedspreads with pastel plaid curtains and plastic coated tablecloths.  This place did not fit her caliber, and felt downright inhumane. Of course it was Margaery’s oh-so-clever idea to put her here.  Shame on her for that, and on Loras for allowing it.  

Sansa couldn’t let herself care. There was no room for things like that here. Olenna had said many offensive things throughout the course of their visit, causing Sansa to bristle repeatedly.  It couldn’t go without recompense, even if Sansa knew she would never have been so free with her opinion if Sansa didn’t look so much like her mother, someone she apparently trusted.  Since when was there room for trust?

The yawn was a blessing, a way out of the meeting, and Sansa gladly welcomed it. It was the way the Tyrell spoke to her, as if she were Catelyn, as if her mother hadn’t been long dead, that made her itch to leave. That special place in her heart that held the ache set aside for her mother throbbed, reminding her of its presence, and her inability to soothe it. “When are they supposed to come over?”

Olenna stared back at her, looking a bit lost. After a moment, it was clear that she was just trying to trace back in the conversation to understand the question. To appear benign, Sansa smiled, “I am excited to establish with them.”  

All of a sudden, Sansa got a taste of the shrewd old businesswoman everyone remembered as she eyed her up and down.  “Are you, now?”  

It felt like a one hundred and eighty degree turn.  Olenna had been practically begging her to link up with the Harpy’s new management, and now she was questioning her for being interested.  Perhaps her instincts didn’t leave her when her wits did. Sansa felt her guard go up, much as it did with Cersei, and hardly ever needed to with Loras.  The best way to deal in a situation like this was to focus strictly on the practicalities of business.  “ _Obviously_ , I am. Your shipments come in the fastest, why wouldn’t I want in on that?” Then she finished with some flattery, “And besides, I enjoy it when we work together.”  Sansa felt her nerves pin-prick, wanting to take back her last comment.  She had no idea if her mother and Olenna had worked together before.  Sure, she had an idea, but nothing had been said for certain.  It was a gamble that Sansa wouldn’t have made, had she realized what she was going to say before she said it.

Olenna searched her face for any lie, her smile to follow, reluctant.   _Good luck,_ Sansa thought to herself.  She was used to hiding her thoughts and had perfected the mask of an unreadable face many years ago.  After another moment, Olenna gave a warm sigh.  “Margaery is shoring up some properties.  She said that Baelish, of all people, had taken over some of them. Can you imagine?”

The grin that tickled the sides of her mouth, begged to be worn, but Sansa stifled it. There was a time and a place to gloat about her husband’s accomplishments, and this definitely wasn’t it.  Sansa was pulled from her happiness at the sound of Olenna’s next thought.  “I mean it’s not as if he has any deeds or anything. Margaery would never allow our properties sold, especially knowing our plans for them. The man’s probably just using his influence over some muscle to squat there.”  

_Oh but he does, and she most certainly did._ Sansa again hid the smug smirk she wanted to display proudly.  Margaery had lost the deeds to Petyr.  He was too smart for the both of them, as usual. In diminishing the Tyrell territory for the inevitable Lannister takeover, and securing more assets for their daughter, Petyr had also gunked up the works for the new Harpy management to come over and set up shop. She might have questioned if that was a good thing or not, if she hadn’t just learned that for some unknown reason, they did not look kindly on Baelishes.  Olenna smiled, “I was half tempted to have you call Lysa to make her boy-toy return them.”  

Remembering to play her part as Catelyn Stark, Sansa returned the smile, “I don’t mind.”  

“No.” Olenna shook her head. “I wouldn’t burden you with the headache. Lysa is often more trouble than she’s worth.” Olenna grinned over her tea cup, “Besides, I’ve been grooming Margaery to take over and I think it would be a great opportunity for her to show her mettle.  We’ll show that little weasley upstart how we did things in the old days.”  

Sansa kept her smile in place, wanting to punch the woman for all of her false assumptions about Petyr, and the pleasure she took in the idea of harming him.  It did not take a genius to figure out what Olenna intended to do- it was going to be a violent show of force.  Sansa brought her own cup up, letting the alcohol touch the sensitive flesh of her lips, burning them red and swollen, the longer the exposure.  She wouldn’t take another sip, but she would feel its effects against her skin.  She removed the cup before she felt for her phone, as if it had vibrated.  “Ugh, husbands.”

Olenna smiled, offering some light chiding, “If you didn’t make yourself so indispensable, he may not mind if you took the odd afternoon off.”

“And then the whole kingdom would come crashing down, wouldn’t it?” Sansa laughed as she texted Bronn.  It was impulsive and nothing she’d discussed with Petyr, but she didn’t know what Olenna had planned, and would take no chances. She typed in the retirement home’s address and then Olenna’s room number.  She added at the very end, _natural and now._  She would have Olenna’s death look as if by natural causes. She had considered smothering her with a pillow herself, but figured that her leaving would be much easier if Olenna was still alive when she did.  

“So, the old days, huh?”  Sansa brought her attention back to Olenna.  

The elderly woman closed her eyes and inhaled as if in a dream.  “Yes, back when people had a little spine.”  

Sansa pictured Cersei in the seat across from her.  Her relationship with Cersei helped her find the words to say and how to say them.  “Anything fun in mind?”  

“Oh, the usual.  Of course, we won’t get to be so obvious about it.  I really don’t have the time to deal with Lysa.”  Olenna sighed.  

“Who does?”  Sansa mirrored her expression of exhaustion and boredom over her long-deceased aunt. Whatever timeline Olenna was living in, Lysa had not yet had her windpipe crushed in The Hound’s paws.  After hearing how her aunt was with her husband, Sansa allowed herself the pleasure of imagining Lysa strangled in a public bathroom and left lifeless on the tile floor. She couldn’t help her eyes travel back to the pillow behind Olenna, telling herself that whatever mess she made in the moment could always be cleaned later.  She looked down when her phone buzzed, _Sorry Golden Snatch, I’m not in the area, had to outsource it.  Someone will be there in 20._

Outsource it?  That was a first, as far as Sansa knew.  Whoever Bronn had trusted to handle a job for the Baelishes had to be close by if they could arrive in twenty.  She had to get out of there.  Sansa leaned forward, “Time has gotten away from us.”  

Olenna glanced up at the clock.  “Oh, yes, it has. Will I see you again before the baby comes?”  

The question startled her a little, and Sansa forced a polite smile as she stood.  “Of course.”

Olenna did not move from her seat, only flashing her some teeth. “Good. I’ll have Margaery pick up a present for me. She’s such a good girl, Cat.  Listens when I tell her things.”  As Sansa sidled around the little table to leave, she had no choice but to near Olenna’s chair.  A withered hand shot out and landed on her belly.  The shock of the brazen contact broke Sansa’s polite facade as she gawked at her.

The aged Tyrell’s wrinkles moved to gather at each side of her eyes.  “I know it’s not proper, but I have felt every one of your babies kick, and I will not allow my current condition,” she gestured to the depressing room around them, “to rob me of the opportunity.”  Sansa stood stunned as Olenna rubbed her belly in slow soothing circles.  Her voice was maternal as she spoke into the bump, “Come on, darling girl.  Wake up and show me how strong you are.”

Sansa breathed deeply, realizing that the woman would not remove her hand until the baby within stirred.  The urge to grab her wrist as she had Petyr’s days ago, was definitely there.  Unlike with Petyr, she would snap Olenna’s wrist, breaking her bones as she yanked the woman’s hand away.  There was no need for such brutality but the primal need to protect her young reared its head.  She took a breath and fought that urge, choosing to be polite, not make a scene. It was her mother’s voice she heard in her head telling her, _Don’t ever be rude.  Endure. Whatever it is. Retribution can come later._

As if on cue, her daughter delivered a strong kick to Olenna’s palm.  Olenna laughed, “Wow.  She’s strong. Kicks like Arya did. Poor Sansa.”  

She desperately wanted to escape, run away from this woman and the eerie window she gave into her mother.  She also wanted to know what she meant.  “Poor Sansa?”  

Olenna smiled, “Oh, Arya’s always off playing with the boys and Sansa’s always left on her own.  I was hoping this girl would be more like Sansa, give her some companionship.”  

She hadn’t thought about it much, but Olenna’s assessment of Sansa’s childhood was spot on.  She was often alone, until her parents died, and then they all looked to her. She had forgotten about that.  Damn that woman for reminding her.  Sansa took a couple of steps closer to the door.  She didn’t know what possessed her to ask, “What about your granddaughter?  You speak so highly of her.”  

Disappointment flashed across her face.  “I get the impression that she is jealous of Sansa.  Only the heavens above know why.” She ran her fingers across her lips before she said, “For a while, I thought it was because you made me her godmother. Now I feel like it has something to do with a man. Isn’t that silly though? Sansa’s much too young to be thinking of boys. Isn’t she?”  

Godmother.  Sansa felt her heart rate raise rapidly.  This was news to her, all of it was.  She chuckled, “Of course she is. I wouldn’t worry about Margaery. Girls will be girls.”

Olenna said nothing for a moment, her eyes appraising Sansa.  It was as if there was something she was trying to tell her, but wouldn’t. “I’m rather tired, Cat. I think I need a lie down.”

Sansa nodded her head.  “Yes. Get some rest.”  

Just as her hand found the door, Olenna’s soft voice called out one last time. “Cat?”  

Sansa turned to see her out of her chair and walking the short distance toward her bed.  

“We don’t have friends.”  Olenna explained as she pulled back her comforter.  

Sansa shook her head, “No, we don’t.”  

Olenna climbed into her bed, breathing heavy as she got comfortable. She looked up at her, her eyes heavy as she said, “You’ve been my best.”  

With an unexpected lump in her throat, Sansa nodded, “Likewise.”

Her legs were taking her up the hall much faster than was casual. She forced herself to slow down, smile and wave, as she passed the reception counter.  The attendants smiled back, and whether or not they noticed the tears forming in her eyes, she was already out the door and halfway through the parking lot before she gave it a thought.  

Jon was sitting in the car drumming on his steering wheel, the music blaring when she opened the door and got in.  He was about to put the car in drive when he heard her wail.  Tears poured down her cheeks, washing her chest and forming a dark damp spot on the top of her cheap dress.  

He reached over and pulled as much of her over the console as he could, wrapping her up in a hug.  He couldn’t ask her what was wrong right then and had done the only thing he knew to.  Sansa felt her daughter kick as her belly bounced with the strain of her uncontrollable sobs.  Without realizing it, she’d uttered, “ _Mmmom.”_

She felt Jon’s grip tighten on her, kissing the top of her head.  This was not the first time her cousin had held her when she was inconsolable over her mother, though the last time had been many years ago.  She had not anticipated what it would be like to step into her shoes, to speak to someone who knew her so well, possibly even _loved_ her.  

Whenever she thought of her mother, the memory of how she died came to the forefront, spoiling the good memories she tried to bask in. Did Olenna know how Catelyn died? She must have. She had lost her marbles long after Catelyn Stark was murdered in her home. Sansa wondered what the woman’s reaction was at the time. Had there been any retaliation on her behalf?  Sansa wouldn’t have known, being only fourteen at the time. She thought of her own relationship with Cersei, would she retaliate if she was killed?  

Any doubt as to whether or not Olenna had indeed been suffering from dementia was now laid to rest. Her mind was gone and she was still leading the Tyrells. Loras was a figurehead and Margaery was simply not enough on her own. Luckily for them, Olenna’s senility could be hidden over the phone, or in a quick exchange. It was only when someone spoke to her at length, that they realized her sense of time was off. She used the proper surnames, though she was often referring to family members of a different time.  

She was still in control, and as confused as she may be, she was gunning for Petyr. Sansa didn’t know how accurate her information was about the Harpy and its new management, but she would wager that it was correct. Olenna appeared to be spot on about a lot of things, even if she did jumble them a bit and get confused as to some of the deeper meanings.  It was the right call. Killing her. She was still a threat.  

Sansa took a deep breath and started wiping her eyes, trying to regain her composure. She stared out the window at the main entrance, unable to turn and explain the conflicting thoughts and emotions that stormed inside of her. She watched people walk in and out, smiling and making small talk, when a beat-up sedan pulled up and parked. A petite brunette in CNA scrubs hopped out of the car and walked casually through the front doors.  

_Bronn’s hire,_ she thought to herself, though she didn’t know why she jumped to that assumption.  There were probably many CNAs that worked there and drove crappy outdated cars. The healthcare field never paid people what they deserved.  It was doubtful that any of them parked their car by the front entrance, however.  Sansa sighed, knowing they should be leaving if Olenna was about to be assassinated.  

“I’m sorry, Jon. It was all a bit much at once. We should get going.” Sansa felt another tear roll down her cheek.  

He asked if it was the baby and she nodded, thinking it a convenient excuse. He caught her though, not allowing her to be anything but truthful with him.  He asked her why she was crying for her mother if it was the baby. There was no point in lying to him, and it was easier than trying to think up something, so she told him the truth. She told him about Olenna and feeling as if she was trapped in the Twilight Zone with her. She shared her feelings about her mother and the secret friendship she kept with a Tyrell. Jon listened sympathetically, and for a moment it was like the old days, when it was just them and a couple of frozen yogurts.

She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes one last time before she summed it all up. “She was going to hurt Petyr. I couldn’t let that happen.”  

Jon held her hand in his, waiting for her to meet his eye before he told her, “You made the right choice.” He then nodded his head, as if his judgement had been set in stone and there would be no arguing over it.

“We should be getting back.” Sansa smiled at him, trying to reassure him that she was better.  

Jon gave her his own half-hearted smile before letting go of her hand and turning the key to the ignition.  Sansa reached in her purse for her phone, checking to see if there were any messages from Petyr.  Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion when she saw that there weren’t any. He always messaged her. Always. It had to have been at least a couple of hours since he saw her in the window, surely he would have messaged her by now. She looked up in time to see the brunette trotting out towards her car, smoothing her hands over the uniform she wore.  

Something didn’t feel right, and Sansa wasn’t sure what to attribute it to: this stranger she couldn’t take her eyes off of, Petyr’s silence, or still reeling from her time with Olenna. Just as Jon let off of the brake and began to pull out of the parking space, the brunette lifted her head, glancing above the roof of the car before she got in it.  An unexpected scream escaped Sansa and she jumped forward in her seat.  “ _Stop!_ ”

Jon’s foot jammed down on the brake and he whipped his head around to her, eyebrows wrinkled.  Sansa watched the car pull away and turned to him, answering his unspoken question.  “I think that was Arya.”  

He did not move, only blinked incredulously.  

Sansa shook her head, “I know it sounds strange. I don’t care. Follow that car. Don’t let her see us.”  

Jon stared back at her for a second before sighing and pulling out of the spot.  It was clear he was humoring her and thought she had completely lost it.  To be fair, she was wondering the same.  They followed the little car for about three miles, through numerous intersections, before it turned into a shopping center. Sansa watched it pull over to the side of the large supermarket, and park by the dumpster.  

The brunette got out and walked around to the other side of the vehicle, standing between the car and the concrete wall.  After a couple of minutes, she emerged dressed in ripped up jeans and a raggedy cotton tank top.  They could hear her boots clunking on the pavement, even from so far away.  She threw the uniform she was carrying into the dumpster and pulled her phone out.  

She paced in front of the car a few times, talking.  When she pulled her hair back behind her ear, Sansa got another good look at her.  She had Arya’s pointed chin, her expressive eyebrows, and there was no doubting her mischievous grin.  Sansa glanced over at Jon, who stared ahead in shock. His mouth hung open, watching her take a rag from somewhere and start wiping down the car.  

As if she needed any more proof, Sansa pulled her phone out and dialed her younger sister.  Arya looked down at her phone and silenced it before she shoved it back in her pocket and walked around to the other side of the dumpster.  Both Sansa and Jon watched in disbelief as Arya pulled her bike out from its hiding spot and swung her leg up over it, before firing it up.  

When she drove off, neither of them knew what to say, staring at each other in disbelief.  Arya wanted no part of this life, the crime business. Yet here she was, _assassinating_ a major family member. Judging by the way she covered her tracks and the fact that it was Bronn that put her on this, she may not have been her first time either.  

It was too much for Sansa to wrap her head around, and when Jon asked her if they should follow Arya she shook her head no.  “We’ve been gone too long.  We should get back.”       

 

 

 


	36. Spinning Plates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t cheap, but peace of mind rarely was.

Petyr looked at the old man staring back at him in the mirror, the patch of silver by his temples thickening, along with the lines of his face deepening. He ran his hand across his five o’clock shadow, noting that it always seemed to arrive closer to three especially when he felt less than settled. He could thank Sansa for that. Loving her was as much draining as it was invigorating.  The woman pulled so many emotions from him, and only got more proficient at doing so as time went on.

The past couple of weeks, following Sansa’s retirement home excursion, held a tension in the air, threatening to snap the world around them.  His deadline was approaching, and despite convincing Joffrey to propose to Margaery, Cersei didn’t appear any closer to viciously acting out against it.  Neither did Jaime; or Tyrion, for that matter.  Petyr also couldn’t help but notice, that the announced wedding date did not move back any.  Margaery would not prolong her engagement, understanding at least the importance of cementing her relationship with another powerful family, however unwelcome she was in it.

Regardless of when the wedding was due to take place, the death of such a notable family member took attention away from the upcoming nuptials.  Olenna’s _passing_ marked the end of an era.  She had been out of the limelight for years, but her name still garnered respect.  It stood for something, represented a way of doing things, conducting business.  Margaery and Loras had hidden behind the name that Olenna had made for their family, offering the assurance of her counsel, however compromised it was.  That was gone now.  How much longer could her grandchildren ride on her coat tails?      

Olenna’s funeral was not open to the public, yet another mistake on the young Tyrells’ part.  Not allowing the other families to view the body and watch the casket lower deep into the dirt, was extremely disrespectful.  All families required the closure of a serious threat put to rest. Margaery’s pathetic obituary ended with dramatic garbage about the family being too distraught for a large service, indicating that only immediate family members were allowed.  It was bullshit. He would wonder why they didn’t want any of the other families present, if it wasn’t so glaringly obvious. Anytime Loras was on public display, the Tyrells’ weaknesses were only further revealed, and Margaery had definitely made an ass of herself at the last funeral.  He smirked to himself thinking about just how well Sansa carried herself in contrast, even if she was furious with him at the time.

On second thought, perhaps not having a service was the smarter move.  Petyr rolled his eyes in the mirror before pulling it back to take his razor and shaving cream off the shelf.  The mirror clicked shut again as he set them down on the counter, and tucked a towel into his collar.  His office manager had wanted to purchase disposable paper towels for his personal bathroom, but Petyr staunchly resisted.  It was his ritual to clean up his goatee, though strangely, only on days he spent in the office.  He rather liked keeping himself slightly grizzled on days he was with Sansa.  Her fingers rubbing over the itchy fine hairs that emerged felt nothing short of heavenly.  Not that he’d had a lot of her touches lately…

He made certain that his phone was muted as it sat on the counter, before he turned the faucet on.  He didn’t want Sansa to question the sound of running water in the background of her conversation with her brother Robb, something Petyr was not supposed to be hearing.  He sighed to himself, knowing that he was crossing a line by tapping her phone and listening in on her calls, but what other choice did he have?  She deceived him, acting independently in seeking out Olenna, and then ordering her hit.

How could he trust his wife now?  It was not as if either of them really trusted, in the strictest sense of the word, but they _risked_ for each other.  Her actions had increased that risk.  He wouldn’t monitor her communications forever, just for now, just until the baby came.  It was only another two weeks away and Petyr wouldn’t allow himself to be out of the loop again.  He squirted some gel on his fingers and worked a lather into his skin, feeling a pang of disappointment that Sansa would no longer allow him to do this for her.

He had only shaved her a couple of times before making the mistake of pointing out a small stretch mark that had appeared under her belly button, out of her field of view.  It was not long after that discovery, that she began declining his assistance with such grooming.  He would be fooling himself if he thought that her vanity were the only reason behind her slow retreat from such intimate acts.  Sansa owned a calendar, could see how fast the date was approaching.  He was disappointing her and he knew it.

“Hey, this is going to sound odd, but do we have godparents, that you know of?”  Sansa’s voice was hesitant, echoing in Petyr’s bathroom.

“Mom and Dad were Catholic.” He stated, as if that was answer enough.  Finally he added, “Of course we have godparents, Sansa.”  It wouldn’t be Robb if he didn’t then play upon her guilt a bit, “Why?  Finally feeling sorry for not naming Arya godmother?”  

Petyr winced in the mirror, knowing that comment would sting.  

As he expected, Sansa’s voice dripped venom.  “No, Robb.  That is not something I’m willing to feel bad about.”  She did, though. “Why don’t we ask Arya since she enjoys being such a martyr?”  

Petyr touched the blade to his cheek in the resulting silence.  Robb always prodded Sansa’s tender spots, but would quickly retreat whenever she nipped at him.  Once again, Sansa’s voice sounded through the phone, “I am asking, because I don’t know who my godparents are.  I find that strange, don’t you?”  

No longer in the line of fire, Robb spoke easily.  “Oh, it was Luthor and Olenna Tyrell.  Did you know she died recently?  What am I kidding, you’re in the city, of course you know.”

Petyr bit back a smug smirk.  He always enjoyed knowing things that others did not.  Sansa continued on undeterred by Robb’s ignorance to her actions, “Why didn’t I know she was my godmother?”

“Dad hated her for some reason.  Even banned her from the house entirely when we were little.  I wasn’t even ten yet so you couldn’t have been any older than five or six.”

Petyr dragged the blade over his flesh, clearing away the white foam as he did.  The speaker on his phone giving her voice a slight static rasp as she asked, “What did Mom say about it all?”

Robb sounded tired of the subject, “It was Mom, Sansa.  What do you think she said about it?  Not a thing.  Just stood silent, with a thousand yard stare, like how she always did.  It was like she was too busy sorting through all the secrets that swirled around her head, to care about shit right in front of her.  Let alone who came to whose _garden party_.”  

“Wow, Robb, I didn’t realize know little you thought of Mom.”  Petyr listened to her stiffen.  

“I don’t.  Really, I don’t.  You forget Sansa, I had more time with her than you did.  I don’t sugar coat my memories of her.”  Petyr snickered a little at Robb’s words.   _That was stupid, kid._  He knew Sansa would take extra offense to that last comment, and Robb would be lucky if she didn’t reach through the phone and beat him senseless.     

As predicted, her voice was sharp, “I’m not sugar coating my memories of her either.  I also, refuse to speak ill of the dead.  Especially since she was our _mother_.  And furthermore--”  

There was a knock at Petyr’s door, interrupting the Stark drama he’d been tuned into.  His hand dropped to the phone, silencing the audio tap with the push of a button.  “Yes?”

“You wanted to see me?”  Varys asked, stepping through his office to the private bathroom.  

“How’s Ros working out?”  Since appointing her to the new position, Petyr had been meaning to learn how she was acclimating.

Varys smiled, “We didn’t realize how helpful a hostess position would be until she started.  She’s made herself indispensable.”

“ _Indispensable_?”  Petyr cleaned up his other cheek before running the blade under the water.  Nobody was indispensable, and Varys would know that.  His choice of words was interesting.  

As if he didn’t notice he was being questioned, Varys explained casually, “Yes.  The customers appreciate the extra care they get with someone welcoming them, attending to them, and guiding the girls.”  Varys’ smile held a note of pride as he said, “She’s been great at ferreting out information as well.  Both with the girls, and the customers.”  

“Anything of interest?”  Petyr wiped his face with the towel he’d tucked into his collar.  

“Not anything important right now.  Though, I thought it interesting to note that Kevan Lannister suspects Tyrion has a new girl.”  Varys shrugged, hands in his pockets, as usual.  “It may be nothing.”  

“Kevan’s not particularly bright.  Do you think his suspicions are valid?”  

Varys raised an eyebrow, “Well, Tyrion hasn’t been around any of our establishments for over a week now.  And you know how he loves our girls.”  

“It’s worth looking into, but we have other matters first.”  Petyr prioritized.  Tyrion’s love life may be of use later, but for the time being, he was not a concern.  

Switching gears, Petyr asked, “What do you know about Alzheimers?”

Varys blinked once, and said nothing.  Apparently, he had not expected the question, but pulled out his phone, regardless.  Less than a minute later, he read aloud, “Alzheimers is a chronic neurodegenerative disease that usually starts slowly and worsens over time.  The most common early symptom is difficulty in remembering recent events, confusing them with the past.”

“Yes, that’s obvious.”  Petyr waved his hand in the air impatiently.  If he just wanted the summary paragraph of a quick internet search, he would have done that himself.  “Does it say if there is any way to cure or treat it?”

Varys read on, “No treatments stop or reverse its progression, though some may temporarily improve symptoms, offering sporadic moments of reduced cognitive impairment.”  

Petyr thought about the line, _temporarily improve symptoms._  Was that how Olenna was able to conduct business?  They medicated her and then Margaery would come by and dial the number for her, allowing the old woman to use her brief bouts of clarity to make her grandchildren richer?  Petyr wanted to say that he had standards, but he couldn’t deny the brilliance behind the idea, considering the cards they had been dealt.

Varys’ voice interrupted Petyr’s appreciation of Margaery’s manipulation, “Do you doubt Sansa’s assessment of the situation?”  

“Excuse me?”  Petyr hated hearing the word, _doubt,_ so close to his wife’s name.  If it weren’t for doubts, he wouldn’t be forced to monitor her so closely.  He breathed in and reminded himself that she did this to herself, sneaking off like that. He hoped that it was just the pregnancy affecting her decision-making, and not a choice she would have made otherwise.

”Do you think Olenna didn’t really have Alzheimer’s and that perhaps, Sansa was possibly fooled?”  Varys spoke carefully as he explained himself further.  

Petyr shook his head, “No...it’s just that some things the woman said were crystal clear, while others confusing.  It’s difficult to believe that she would fade in and out like that.”  

“Hmm.”  The curious expression on Varys’ face indicated that he had donned his thinking-cap.  “Was there anything she said, in particular, that stuck out?”

The part where she hated him.  Petyr spent years respecting her talent and skill, even though she was more competition than someone to idolize.  She, on the other hand, apparently thought he was beneath her.  “Not really.  She spoke of new management, but didn’t offer any names.  She mentioned a northern family too, something about a disgraced husband who owed her a debt.”  

“Did you get a name?”  Varys pulled his cell phone out, at the ready to research.  

“Mormont.”  Petyr tossed the name out casually, seeing some movement out of the corner of his eye.  

When he looked over, Varys was still, his expression blank. Petyr could swear he’d seen the man’s eyes widen for a second out of his periphery, though.  

Varys asked as his normal conspiratorial self, “Do you think there’s a connection?”

Petyr appraised him for a moment before deciding that he must have imagined it.  “Who knows.  Trying to piece out useful information from someone so far gone is a wild goose chase.”  

Varys nodded his head and put his phone back in his pocket.  “Is there anything else I can help with?”

There was so much to do, and time was running out.  The distracted part of himself had hoped that if he and Sansa drew attention to Margaery and Joffrey, Cersei would take care of the rest.  He had thought that the biggest barrier would be Jamie and Tyrion disapproving of any actions against Tyrells, and even then, Petyr was sure that Cersei would carry out her own design anyway.  After twenty years together, surely the woman would know how to control her husband’s temper and fall back into his good graces.  

What was the hold up?  Cersei was supposed to be the wildcard, hot-headed, and quickest to act.  She was very open about her hatred for Margaery, not needing much motivation to eliminate her.  The intended marriage should certainly have been enough and any hesitation she may have due to the Tyrell name had to have faded away with Olenna’s passing.  The conditions were prime, it was open season, and yet things were stagnant.  Each minute that passed, was a minute closer to his child’s birth, and Sansa’s resolution.  

Perhaps Cersei needed the tools.  She couldn’t use her husband’s resources without being discovered, possibly before she was able to act.  As much as Petyr would like to dispatch any one of his and Sansa’s trusted employees to come to her assistance, it would only implicate them, the exact opposite of what they were trying to do.  Just as Petyr was about to feel frustration get the better of him, he reminded himself that his talent lied in keeping all the plates in the air spinning.  A small smile spread across his face as he realized his next move and looked up at Varys, “Yes, I want you to plant a little birdy in Cersei’s ear.  Let her know that Olyvar isn’t the happiest in his ‘relationship’ with Loras.”

Varys stood at attention, hearing his lover’s name.  He thought aloud, “And even though she doesn’t care about Loras, she may offer Olyvar support with him if he assists her with Margaery.”  Petyr nodded his head in agreement as Varys pieced it together, “Olyvar has access to the whole Tyrell estate.”  

“Cersei may be slow to act right now, trying to avoid getting her own hands dirty.”  Petyr acknowledged.  Cersei wasn’t the least bit stupid, but she also wasn’t the quickest thinker, either.   

Varys looked down, taking in the fact that it would be his lover who’s hands were sullied instead.  Petyr continued to explain, “Say that he’s been seen around Unveiled more, by himself, buying time with the girls.  He could pass as bi, couldn’t he?”

Petyr half expected some push back, as his right hand man seemed to have sincere feelings for Olyvar.  If the roles were reversed, Petyr would not want Sansa used in this capacity, and would not blame Varys if he felt similarly.  It wouldn’t excuse Olyvar from the work Petyr would need him to do, of course, but he could at least understand.  Strangely, Varys didn’t attempt to dissuade him.  He simply nodded his head in acquiescence.

Petyr didn’t wonder if there may be trouble in paradise between Varys and his man, knowing that their relationship had to have been strained.  His mind flashed briefly to the way he and Sansa parted that morning, their embrace rigid and their words stilted.  How many relationships would this vendetta against Margaery take a toll on?  He closed his eyes, scolding himself for being upset.  They were still together, embracing, talking. It was progress. Things were getting better, he knew it in his bones.

“I will have Ros give Kevan special attention the next time he is in.  She’ll drop a line about _Olyvar_.” Varys’ emphasized his name without realizing it, showing his natural displeasure in the manipulation involving his lover. “I’m sure that once Kevan knows something, everyone in the Lannister camp will become aware shortly thereafter.”  

Petyr nodded his agreement, “That’s the idea.” He then quickly moved on, “Any word on Lancel?”  

“He’s still assigned to Cersei. Jaime’s attempting to quell the rumors that Lancel is spouting off, and keeping him out of the clubs. In addition, apparently, he’s under the impression that Cersei and he are having an affair.”  

The first part made sense. The last bit, however, sounded backwards. “So he’s assigning him to Cersei exclusively?”

“Yes. According to Kevan, Tyrion advised Jaime to put them together to catch them in the act. If he couldn’t, then she clearly wasn’t being disloyal. If he could, then he may feel justified in whatever punishment he meted out to her.” Varys explained the Lannister right’s logic.  

Petyr chuckled picturing Jaime bursting in every door, trying to catch his wife ankles up, only to find her rolling her eyes over a glass of wine. If Cersei was cheating on Jaime, she would be smarter about it than what Tyrion gave her credit for. Lannister drama aside, Petyr would just have to spread word about Lancel’s big mouth faster.  “Get the girls to talk more.  Branch out to Mockingbird and make an appearance at Doghouse.  I want people to know what Lancel is saying.  I want more attention drawn before the bachelor party.”  According to the invitation Petyr received, Joffrey’s bachelor party was due to take place in nine days.  

Varys nodded, but before allowing him to leave, Petyr asked, “How are the preparations coming?”  

He was referring to one of the surprises he’d been planning for Sasna.  He hoped it would bring them closer together.  Varys smiled, “Some of the details are still in the works, but there is much progress.  It should be completed by the end of the week.”  

Deeming that acceptable, Petyr excused him.  His phone rang as he walked back into his office.  He answered and let his eyes focus on the building across the street, moving around to behind his desk, drawn closer to it. Shae spoke quickly, not bothering with a greeting, “I took the pictures.  It’s extra for photoshop.”  

She was referring to a small insurance policy Petyr was developing, concerning Cersei’s level of motivation, not that Shae knew how all the dots connected.  “I hope it’s not photoshop you’re using.”  

“I’m a professional.  Of course it’s not photoshop.”

Petyr caught sight of Sansa walking through the lobby, holding a tablet in her hands.  He gave his next instructions to Shae, “Good, send it to my phone when you’re done.”  

“Yes.”

Petyr thought to his conversation with Varys, and figured he’d take advantage of the private investigator’s skills while he had her on the phone, “I have another job for you.”

Silence told him she was listening, waiting for his offer.  

He continued, “There’s a rumor that Tyrion Lannister has a new girl.  Find out who she is.”  

There was a smile to her voice, “How much will you pay me?”

“Ten?”  The job shouldn’t be difficult, there was no deadline, and it was probably benign information.  He simply wanted to know because it was always better to know.  

Her response was swift, “Seventeen.”  

He raised his eyebrows, “Seventeen?  Simply to find out who he’s screwing?”  

“I don’t think you appreciate the work involved.  He’s a high level family member.  Those are always hard to follow.  It may take days of following him, camping out in my car, outfitting myself in various servant’s uniforms to get closer to him, etcetera.  I’ll do it for fourteen, and it’s that or nothing.”  The offense she took in having to explain herself sounded almost comical, and was rather unexpected.

“Fine.  I’ll agree to fourteen.”  It wasn’t worth the headache of negotiations for something he was only mildly interested in anyway.  

“Good.  It’s me.  I’m the girl.  Now, pay up.”  She said simply.   

His eyebrows shot up, “You?”  He rubbed his bottom lip with the back of his thumb, watching Sansa adjust a painting on the wall.  “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

Again, her voice sounded amused, “For me? No. For you? Maybe. If you’re squeamish about that sort of thing.” She further insisted, “I have already told you that I am a professional. Who I fuck is not _always_ the same as who pays me. Respect the profession, Baelish.”  

Petyr was relieved that he’d instructed her to send the image directly to him, rather than the Lannisters.  He no longer wanted her aware of his actions in regards them, not that he ever did.  She may have said she was unaffected by her intimate relationship with Tyrion, and perhaps she was, but Petyr wouldn’t take that chance.  “The money is being transferred now.”  

“Perfect.  I’ll send the image over as soon as I’m finished with it.”  She ended the call abruptly, as she’d began it.    

Petyr shoved the phone back in his pocket, and looked through the full length window panes down to Stark Naked Art Gallery.  Squinting at the sunlight that reflected off the glass storefront, his eyes searched for a glimpse of her, finding nothing.

He had been standing in the same exact spot, two weeks prior, staring at an empty lobby, unable to find her then too.  

He hadn’t known to be concerned, an hour passing without him bothering to look, knowing she wouldn’t be in sight.  They both told each other that they needed to focus on work.  After that first hour, however, he caught himself glancing over his shoulder more and more.  Still not seeing her, he picked up his phone and began to type a message before he stopped himself.  She was working.  He knew that.  She would come out when she had finished whatever project she was plugging away at.  After the little dust up they’d had earlier that morning, her saying that he didn’t respect her work, Petyr was determined not to undermine it further by messaging her repeatedly.  

Finally, twenty minutes past the hour, Petyr got an idea.  A smile quirked his lips as he picked up his office phone and dialed Stark Naked’s business line.  Sansa would take the call, thinking it a potential client, and Petyr would be free to flirt with her under the pretense of wanting to engage her _services._  Petyr felt the smile slide from his face as he listened to the phone go to voicemail.  His curiosity grew as he wondered why she wouldn’t answer the phone, especially considering her stating repeatedly how she wanted to drum up new clients.  He thought it was silly to look for more business right now, as she’d be home on maternity leave in less than a month. Unless she was planning on going in anyway, telling herself and everyone around her that as boss she made the rules.  Petyr’s fists clenched in frustration over the thought, and silently vowed to strap her down to the bed if he had to while she recovered from the birth.  

He pulled his cell phone out to text her, but paused.  She may have been in the bathroom.  This late in her pregnancy, she was going all the time.  She would not welcome a text message any more than she would a business call in that moment, and he knew it.  He turned his attention back to his own work for another ten minutes or so before dialing the gallery’s phone line again.  Again, there was no reply.  Worry backed up in his throat, burning with its acidity, and he instantly pulled out the locator application on his phone.  

The small wheel spun, searching, loading, hopefully locating.  A pop-up of the search results read, _phone number not found, device offline._  Her phone had been decommissioned.  Even if it were simply off, the tracker would be able to find it, Petyr had made sure of that before purchasing the software.  The only way for her phone to be considered offline would be if someone smashed it.  

A sick sweat seeped from him as he imagined someone grabbing her and stomping on her phone.  He was out of his office in an instant, bounding across the busy street, nearly escaping the car that almost hit him as it sped by.  His heart thumped loudly in his chest as he pulled at the door.  It was locked.  His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he caught his breath.  Why would she lock the front door if she was working?  Why would kidnappers make it a point to lock the door before taking off with her?

He inhaled deeply through his nostrils, trying to control his breathing, wishing he could call her, hear her voice again.  He dug through his pants pocket and sorted through the many keys he held.  He couldn’t get it to line up with the lock, his hands trembling too violently.  He closed his eyes, breathing again, as he felt the key slide into place.  Petyr strode in, glancing to all corners of the room, looking for the struggle.  Sansa was pregnant, but surely she would still put up a fight, refusing to be taken from him.  His stomach lurched thinking of how scared she must be, knowing he was right across the street and unable to help her.  

Seeing nothing notable, he all but ran down the hall to her office, cursing himself for not insisting that she take Jon for protection.  He was too confident, thinking his eye in the sky was enough, when clearly it wasn’t.  He dialed Jon, listening for it to ring as he tried to think of who may have taken her.  It did not, however, ring.  Instead, it went straight to voicemail, as if the phone were turned off.  Petyr cursed, and pulled up the gps app on his phone.  After the small wheel spun around a few times, the same message appeared, _phone number not found, device offline._

It was at that point that Petyr lowered his phone and realized that Sansa’s office looked as it had on any other day, no signs of struggle, no indication of where she may be.  It looked as if she had simply left her desk to run to the bathroom, though that too was empty.  Petyr reviewed the facts:  Sansa wanted to go to work all of a sudden on that particular day, she left his sight, locked the front door, and neither her nor Jon’s phones were traceable.  Anger first, then pain, rippled through him and heated his skin to boiling as he realized, _she left._

It was a strange feeling, losing track of Sansa. He had always had such a solid grasp of her, something that had comforted him greatly throughout any day.  Yet now, who knew where she was or why, or how long.  Had she planned for a quick in and out, praying he wouldn’t find out and she could continue to carry on the rouse as if nothing happened?  Why should she sneak around like that?  Or, was it something longer term?  Was she willing to put him through the agony of discovery?  He knew that time was closing in on them, and that they had only a month left, less if she delivered early.  Was she throwing her hands up in the air, giving up on him, deciding him a disappointment? A sick sweat drenched his armpits and his palms at that idea.

Petyr paced back and forth, spiraling to the worst places of rejection and then back again to mild and forgivable deceit.  His mind then roamed to the person who knew the most about phones and software in general, Rickon.  He would be able to track his sister, worried for her safety.

Rickon’s first words were, “She’s not back yet?  Shit.”  

“ _What?_ ”  Petyr growled through the phone.  

The young Stark’s voice almost trembled as he gulped audibly, “I’m sorry, Petyr.  Sansa said she had something she had to do, and didn’t want you getting upset.”  

“You deactivated their phones.” Petyr realized the betrayal not only by his wife and her cousin, but now also her youngest brother, someone that he’d taken under his wing.  

“No.  Not really.  I just made them _appear_ offline.  They can still get calls and stuff.  You can totally call her.”  Rickon spoke fast.  

Petyr challenged him, “Then why did Jon’s phone go straight to voicemail?”

Rickon’s voice got higher, “They both will, to add to the _appearing_ offline bit.  But they can see when you call and they can call you back.  Just call her and see.”  

The conversation, while infuriating, was calming him.  He had been so concerned for her safety, to hear that she was alive and well, and unharmed, allowed the air to better reach his lungs. His voice was tight, working to control back the snarl that wanted to take over, “Did it occur to you, Rickon, that perhaps if Sansa wanted to do something without my knowledge, that it may not have been something safe for her to do?”  

There was a pause and then an audible sigh.  “Yeah, I know.  I figured she’d be okay, though, because she was bringing Jon.”  

“Where did she go?”  Petyr had grown tired of the rollercoaster he’d been strapped to and just wanted to know where he could collect his wife.

“She wouldn’t tell me.  Said if I knew, and you found out, I’d tell you to keep you from being mad at me.”  Rickon admitted quietly.  

Petyr closed his eyes again, fighting the urge to scream.  “But you expected she’d be back already, yes?”  

“Yeah, she said she wouldn’t be long at all, would only need their phones and the car affected for a few hours tops.”  

“ _And the car_?”  Petyr didn’t miss that tidbit of information.  

Rickon answered, “Yeah.  They had me block the tracking on Jon’s car.”  

Well, weren’t they thorough?  Jon must have driven separately and picked her up in the back.  Obviously, that’s what happened.  Petyr again cursed himself for not realizing quicker.  Then again, why would he ever suspect Sansa of doing such a thing?  Petyr bit the inside of his cheek to control himself and hung up on Rickon.  The boy couldn’t assist him any further, and he would be lucky if a little loss in manners was all he suffered from Petyr.

He had a choice, he could sit and wait for her to return, or he could find out where she was.  Petyr being Petyr, decided, why not both?  He scrolled through his contacts and pulled up a number he hadn’t had call to use in a little while.  

The voice on the other end sounded run down, “I thought I told you, I don’t work for you people anymore.”  

“You did.  And we told you that we respectfully disagree.”  Petyr acknowledged.  

“No.  Jaime Lannister did.  Not you.  And it wasn’t exactly respectful.”  Commissioner Baratheon answered.  Petyr remembered the funeral and the way Jaime lit up a fat joint, blowing smoke in Stannis’ face as he told him that he was their bitch from that day until his end of days.  

Petyr might have smiled at the memory if he wasn’t so completely focused on seeing his wife again.  “Regardless, you need money.  I have a job.  That’s how this works.  Besides, you prefer working for me.  I treat you better.”  

“You treat me like shit under your shoe.”  Stannis refuted.  

“Better to scrape you off and leave you behind when I’m done with you, then to set fire to the latrine altogether like the Lannisters do.”  Petyr popped a piece of gum in his mouth to force himself to pause, allowing Stannis to better consider his words.

“What do you want?”  Stannis forfeited any argument he had.  

“Silent APB for Sansa Baelish and Jon Snow.  Dark grey Dodge Charger, license plate: LNGCLW.”

Stannis sighed, “Silent, huh?  You don’t want anyone else aware.  Other families aren’t involved?  Or are they?”  

“Don’t try to be clever, Stannis.  It doesn’t suit you.  And frankly, it’s all above your pay grade anyway.”  Petyr quickly admonished him.  

“This is one of your kinky sex games isn’t it?  Wife wants to waste city resources in some stupid chase fantasy?” Stannis’ disgust was palpable.  

Petyr was quick to retort through a fake grin, “My wife’s fantasies are never stupid.” Better Stannis think that Sansa was playing some smutty game, than to see the truth of the matter, that Petyr’s queen had made a fool of him.  He swallowed back the pride she’d trampled over as he continued to play the part of the unaffected mob boss Littlefinger.  “You are being compensated appropriately.  If you truly feel guilty over the resources used to finance this particular job, you are welcome to donate some of your earnings.”  

“Screw you, Baelish.”  Stannis spat.  

Petyr forced himself to laugh, “Thanks for the offer, Stannis.  But, my wife will be only too happy to oblige as soon as you find her for me.”

It was Stannis who hung up first, leaving Petyr completely alone in Stark Naked.  He paced her office a few times before he decided to branch out, walking to the lobby.  He had been in and out of there a million times, though each time, completely zeroed in on a fiery red mane of hair and legs that never ended.  He hadn’t truly taken in the decor, the art work his wife acquired and presented.  He passed a sculpture of a horse rearing up on its hind legs and walked towards an abstract piece in warm colors.  He stopped and inspected the painting, seeing the flowers and bones that resided in the sloping planes and swift curves, indicative of Georgia O’Keefe. He smiled deeply, appreciating his wife’s love for highly suggestive art, as his phone buzzed, _Goldengrove Retirement Village._

Shit.  Sansa was going to see Olenna.  Petyr checked the time, it had been less than a half hour since he’d spoken with Stannis.  Though he was slow, when the man put his mind to something, he came through.  Petyr started adding up the time.  Assuming she left right when she told him she needed to work, she’d been gone at least two hours, closer to two and a half.  Goldengrove wasn’t more than fifteen minutes from Highgarden and Highgarden was within walking distance, not more than ten minutes.  If he subtracted out the twenty-five minutes, thirty with traffic, travel time, it would leave her an hour to be at Goldengrove.  Whatever she was up to, he was sure she’d be concluding her business soon.  He doubted that a conversation with Olenna would take more than an hour.

He pulled his phone out, staring down at the Brainless Pretty Face icon, wanting to send her a message but not knowing what to say.   _I know where you are._  What good would that do?   _You can’t hide from me, not really._  That would only serve to make himself feel powerful and if anything, offer her a challenge.  He didn’t want her to feel challenged.  Perhaps a simple, _I’m waiting for you._  No.  That wouldn’t do either.  What if she read that and got cold feet about a hasty return, not wanting to face the music?  He typed what filled his heart, _why did you do it?_  He stared at it for the longest time, trying to decide whether or not to hit the send button.  He wavered on if she would see his vulnerability in it, and if so, was he even willing to expose it?  

And then he heard a clicking sound and shoved his phone back in his pocket, message unsent.  He positioned himself at the end of the hallway, hands in his pockets, expectantly, as he saw first her foot step through the door, and then her belly.  She wasn’t looking up as she snuck in, closing the door behind her, without Jon in tow.  It was strange that she was putting so much effort into being quiet when she believed he was across the street in an entirely different building.  It had to have been the guilt that forced her careful movements.  He was surprised to see a cheap white dress with blue rose floral print and the familiar brown wig she had used on him for their anniversary.  If nothing else, he could commend his wife for going all out on her little project.  She latched the door shut, and pressed her forehead against it, sighing.    

Petyr took some pleasure, however small, in watching her jump when he said, “Alayne, is it?”  

The whites of her eyes shone brightly as she startled, mouth gaping back at him.  Quickly, her hand reached up and she ripped the brown mop off her head, so quickly and with such force, Petyr was certain she’d lost some of her natural hair in the process.  “ _Petyr!”_

He stood silent as she spilled everything, or at least, he thought everything.  He wasn’t sure how much he could believe, what with her proving herself to be capable of deceiving him.  She winced at that.  Good.  Let her feel what she put him through.  She said she needed to be more involved, that Arya had said something to make her feel that way.  He told her it was selfish of her to be more concerned with proving her sister wrong than the safety of their child or her husband’s peace of mind.

She teared up, protesting, saying that it wasn’t like that.  He, of course, pointed out that it was exactly like that.  Briskly moving on, unwilling to witness more of her emotions, refusing to soften, he asked what came of her visit.  He was less interested in tales from the demented and was more concerned with how Sansa left things, what mess he may need to mop up later.  

She gave him a nervous look that just made him interrogate her further.  A couple of times, she tried to approach him, touch him, appeal to him.  Each time, he took a step further away.  She would not cloud his thoughts and emotions with her smell and feel.  His resolution not to allow it, only further upset her.  He had been through hell and back, and couldn’t care about any turmoil she felt only _after_ being caught.  

Sansa took a deep breath and confessed to having the great Olenna Tyrell killed in her bedroom, probably with the pillow she slept on.  He asked her who she commissioned, knowing that it had to be Bronn, and was surprised to find that it was “outsourced.”  Unable to bite back the acrimony in his voice, he scolded her, “I would have thought that you would have learned from last time, not to use anyone other than Bronn.”  He was of course referring to the time she hired a nobody to murder Drogo’s wife and cried off and on for weeks at the distasteful result.  It was a decision that haunted her to this day.

She looked nothing short of stricken, slapped across the face by his words.  In that moment, Petyr lost the high ground, issuing such a low blow.  Relinquishing his original resolve to avoid her touch, he reached for her.  An apology died in his mouth, as she stiffened and pulled from him.  Her placid mask slid into place and he knew she was unreachable as she responded.  “This situation was different, and I made the best decision in the moment.”  

He wouldn’t deny her that and brought warmth back into his voice as he admitted, “Yes, you did.”

She spoke into the window pane, watching the foot traffic in front of the gallery, “I know I disappointed you.  I apologize for that.  I never thought, however, that you’d punish me by using my past mistakes to wound me for it.”

After a couple of minutes, he attempted to approach her again.  He did so carefully, ready for a swift rejection.  To his pleasure, she did not move when he placed a hand on her shoulder.  Her voice startled him as she said, “And, I know who carried out the hit.”  

Petyr stood silent, as if afraid to say or do anything that might spook her into withdrawing back into herself.  Sansa’s head turned and she looked at him, a tear cracking the facade of the unaffected mob boss.  “It was Arya.”  

Thinking back to Sansa’s discovery about Arya only reminded him to check his texting history with the Stark.  He opened up Arya’s contact and saw only the messages sent in the last week.  The rest he’d wiped out, lest Sansa see them.  He didn’t have to keep them to remember them.  

Littlefinger:   _Your sister knows about your side hobby._

BikerChick:   _Just how in the fuck did she find that out?_

Littlefinger:   _Caught you in the act._

BikerChick:   _I’ll deny it. There’s lots of bitches who look like me._

Littlefinger:   _Not really._

BikerChick:   _Shut up. Go with it, or I’m taking you down with me._

Littlefinger:   _No you won’t. This is yours to deal with. I’ve stayed out of it._

BikerChick:   _The fuck you have. I’ve done jobs for you._

Littlefinger:   _No. To be clear, you’ve done jobs for your boss. I hire your boss. Not you._

BikerChick:   _Fuck. What do I do?!_

Littlefinger:   _It would probably be an ideal time to forgive her about the godmother issue._

BikerChick:   _Seriously, you fucking suck._

Littlefinger:   _I gave you heads up, therefore, I rule. I’m deleting this history. Do the same._

He had known for at least a year what the younger Stark sister had been up to, and kept that information to himself, for various reasons.  For one, he didn’t feel as if it was for him to tell anyone, not even Sansa.  Arya’s business was her own.  For another, she was damn good at what she did, and it was nice to have Bronn’s services more available.  Finally, he knew both women well enough to understand that should he be the one to deliver the news, they would both turn on him, rather than each other.  

Since Sansa had found out about Arya, she hadn’t yet confronted her as far as Petyr knew, and he would know, monitoring her so closely now.  His phone dinged with a notification of a text message between Sansa and Rickon.  He opened it to read, _If you know where she is, you had better tell me._

Seconds later, Rickon’s reply sounded, _If she’s not at Wolfswood, there’s a dock she goes to and sits at a lot.  If she’s not there, then she’s with Mom._

Mom?  Catelyn Stark had been dead for years.  So, naturally, that last message raised an eyebrow.  Sansa was already questioning it, _what do you mean?_

 _The graveyard.  She chills at Mom’s headstone sometimes._  Rickon’s message explained.

Movement out of the corner of his eye, made Petyr look down at the street below.  Sansa was crossing at the intersection, apparently not bothering to respond to Rickon any further, and instead making her way into Petyr.  She must have done her work for the day.  Jon trailed behind, looking both ways, diligent in his protection over her.

Petyr quickly shoved his phone back in his pocket. It was a couple of minutes before Sansa arrived, knocking on his door.  The gentle rap of her knuckles against the wood was soft, and questioning.  This was not at all like her more typical confident barge-in, and it irritated him.  He disliked the trepidation from her, in any action that concerned him. “Come in.”  

She took a few steps in, leaving the door open behind her, as if not wanting to truly be alone with him.  His jaw tightened.  They had experienced distance in their marriage before, much greater distance than this, by far.  He knew they would survive and move past this, but wasn’t entirely sure how.  They both made efforts, however small, to reach out.  It never seemed to be at the same time, or to the same degree.  They weren’t lining up and it was rendering all attempts at regaining their intimacy ineffective.  

He stepped forward, closing the door behind her before taking her hands in his, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.  She offered a smile that didn’t touch her eyes, and gave his hands a supportive squeeze before letting go.  Unable to stop himself, Petyr leaned forward as she turned to sit on his couch, and inhaled her scent.  His more primitive brain reminded him of various times she’d been on his couch in the past, in a much more _familiar_ manner.  “Done for the day?”  

She nodded and rubbed her belly, “She is, at least.”  

“Tired?”  He asked, knowing the answer.  He could see it in her eyes, so heavy and dark.  

She yawned her response.  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I really am.”  

“Let me get my things together.”  Petyr started picking up his folders and closing out his computer.  As he worked, he gestured casually, “Tell me about your day?”

He obviously didn’t need to ask, knowing her actions almost down to the minute, but felt it best to test her honesty with him. He’d been doing so ever since he got her lines tapped, feeling comforted each time she answered truthfully. Such close monitoring wasn’t cheap, but peace of mind rarely was. As much at Petyr knew she’d be angry if she ever found out what he was up to, he was thankful for it.  Despite how forced things were between them, they were improving, however slowly.  He attributed that to his ability to verify what she told him.

Sansa sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head on the back of the couch.  “I had one potential client call, but then changed his mind when he heard the commission rate.”  

“Are your rates too high?”  He asked, knowing the answer, but trying to appear invested.

Her head lifted, as did her left eyebrow, “Are you questioning my business decisions?”  

A small smirk pulled at the side of his mouth. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”  Petyr set his palms flat on his desk, “Allow me to change the subject?  How was the rest of your day?”  

“I spoke to Robb.”  She said offhandedly, though Petyr knew it was not as easily experienced as she made it seem.  He was just pleased that she shared that information at all.  

He pushed for more, “Oh?  Any particular reason.”  

“Talisa has baby fever and it’s driving him crazy.”  Sansa rubbed her belly.

“Again?”  Petyr came around the desk, stopping in front of her.

“Of course.”  Sansa rolled her eyes.  After a moment of silence she added, “I also spoke to Robb about the whole godmother thing.”  

“You did?”  Petyr acted surprised.  

Sansa nodded, “Apparently my father hated Olenna.  Banned her from the house.  That’s why I never knew her.”

“That’s extreme.”  

“It is.  It makes me wonder what her and my mother got up to.”  She looked away.  “I guess I’ll never know now.”  

Petyr spoke with conviction, “You made the right choice about her.  It had to be done.”

Sansa smiled again, and then closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.  

“Everything okay?”  Petyr knelt before her, setting his things on the floor beside him.  

She allowed him to run a hand over her belly as she nodded and exhaled.  “It’s just Braxton Hicks.”  

“Those aren’t supposed to hurt.”  Petyr insisted.  

“Says who?”  She shot back.  And then she took another deep breath and forced a smile.  “The websites have not been exactly one hundred percent accurate.  Luwin says I’m fine.”  

“Have you seen him?”  Petyr knew that she hadn’t, but also knew that she had called the doctor when she saw Petyr’s car pull out of the driveway a couple days prior.  She told Luwin that she’d been experiencing the pulling and tightening sensation in her lower belly off and on and didn’t want to be seen for an appointment if possible because she didn’t want to worry her husband.  He would have been further annoyed by her keeping things to herself, if she hadn’t at least taken the care to contact her doctor, even if it was just for over the phone consultation.

Sansa shook her head.  “I called him.”  

“I want you to see him.”  Petyr moved his hand, feeling a gentle push against his palm.  “I don’t like seeing you so uncomfortable.”  

Sansa chuckled, “Get used to it.  It’s only going to get worse from here on out.”  Her hands left her belly, allowing him full access to it. Even though they were not as open and snuggly as they typically were, Sansa never withheld his child from him, allowing him to rub and touch her belly at will.  She knew how important this was to him, and would not deny him anything regarding it.  She offered him a playful grin, “Unless, of course, you are finally willing to reconsider being present for the actual birth?”  

He shook his head, smiling back at her.  “You don’t quit, do you?”  

“Neither do you!”  

“I am going to be there.”  He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her belly button, now definitely an outtie.  “To welcome my daughter to the world.”  

“Fine, I guess you can be there.  For her.”  Sansa sighed.  She then rolled her eyes, “After all, I’m just a walking incubator.”  

She had expressed on numerous occasions that she did not want him present, unwilling to show him her less than presentable self.  Yet, at mention that he wanted to be present for his daughter rather than her as well, she was instantly feeling slighted.  He could not wait for her to give birth already, perhaps her more reasonable self would return.  Unwilling to argue the point any further, he said simply, “I’m glad we agree.”

Sansa scowled at him and he quickly lifted her hand from the couch, giving her knuckles a peck.  “Are you hungry?”  

“Always.  And yet, I can never finish anything.”  Sansa all but pouted as he stood up, gently tugging on her to help her up as well.  

He knew it was because the baby had grown to the point of pressing against her stomach, making the space it took up smaller.  He still clucked his teeth through a grin, “There are starving children in--”

“I want to see Arya.”  Sansa said abruptly, staring back at him.  

Petyr blinked a couple of times and then said, “Okay, lets invite her over.”  

“She won’t come.”  Sansa sighed.  “And you won’t let me go to Wolfswood.”

“What did you have in mind?”  Petyr asked, taking her moment of vulnerability to slide his arm around her.  It wasn’t that he thought she would decline him holding her, it was just that the vibes they had both been putting out over the past couple of weeks were hesitant and stand-offish.

Sansa spoke carefully, maintaining direct contact as she said, “I spoke to Rickon today.  He said that she goes to Mom’s grave sometimes.”  

“The one up in Deepwood?”  Petyr had heard of the Stark family plot.  

“Yes.”  She paused and then said, “I want to catch her there.”  

“No.”  Deepwood was definitely off the beaten path.  It was all private road and as the name suggested, deep in the woods.  Petyr had no idea why a family as prominent as the Starks would wish to be buried all the way up there, and found the location inconvenient to say the least.  

Sansa’s jaw clenched.  “I’m not asking permission.”  

“I said no.”  Petyr shook his head.  “You’re so close to delivering.”

“It’s not my due date yet, Petyr.”  Sansa’s voice hardened.

“And how often did Dr. Luwin say babies come on their exact due date?” Petyr countered quickly.  

Sansa pulled from his grasp, “Not often.  In fact, he says that the first baby usually comes _late._ ”

Petyr sighed, reaching for her, only to be denied.  “What if the trip is too strenuous on you?  You’ll be miles away from the nearest hospital.”

“Give me this.”  She held her arms over her belly, her eyes a cross between pleading and demanding.

As much as he wanted to give her whatever she asked of him, he held firm in his resolve to keep her and his daughter safe.  “No.  I won’t risk it.”

Sansa looked down at her belly, “As it gets closer to the time…”  She broke off, her voice catching.  “I want to visit my Mom.”  

Unable to turn off his skeptical side he highlighted the inconsistency.  “I thought you wanted to see Arya?”  

“I want _both._ ”  Sansa looked up, her eyes glassy, threatening to let a tear escape.  “Can’t you understand that?  I’m going to be a mother, any day now.  And I just want my mom to be there.”  Her body betrayed her as a single tear rolled down her cheek and she said, “I want her, Petyr.  I _need_ her.”  She sniffed back any more tears that may have escaped her, “I feel like I’ve lost my sister now too.”  Sansa took a deep breath and then stated simply, “Both, Petyr.  I want them both.”

This was the most forthcoming she’d been with her feelings since the day he caught her carefully creeping back into the art gallery.  He wanted to be sensitive to her feelings, but he loathed the idea of her being anywhere out of reach. “You have me.”  

She looked him up and down, disappointment visibly welling inside of her. “You don’t understand.”  

Before he could say anything else, she passed through the door to his office, briskly striding away.  He rubbed the back of his neck thinking, _and two steps back._    

 

       

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to EricaNoelle for test running this chapter for content to make sure I'm not missing anything!  
> Also for readers in the states: Happy 4th of July!


	37. Pampering, Prepping, and Preening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was how a family ran. More than that, on a primal level, this was a pride in action.

Sansa put her phone on speaker and set it on a shelf containing neatly folded jeans, ranging from lightest to darkest wash. She eyed the section of her closet that no longer fit, and rubbed her belly, quietly sighing to herself and vowing to start her diet from her hospital bed. Rickon’s voice sounded from the speaker, “It’s for two days. One night, really.”

“No.” Sansa shook her head as if he could see her and then instantly felt silly doing so.  

She pulled out a drawer for underwear, looking at all the different colors, cuts, and patterns. She held up the green lace brazilian that Petyr was partial to and felt a twinge of sadness. Intimacy hadn’t come easily recently, and she didn’t see it improving any time soon. Rickon’s voice intruded again, “I love you, but you’re being kind of a bitch, right now.”  

“Am I?”  She raised her voice, wanting to know how keeping family members safe was suddenly a bad thing. She looked down at the drawer again and closed it. She wouldn’t need underwear for this outing anyway, and truth be told, looking at her _naughtier_ pairs--now retired, just depressed her.

“I think she’s the one. You know, _the_ one. For him, anyway. And he found her. And she’s clean. And, and--”

Sansa cut him off, “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic.”

There was a short pause before Rickon rounded on her through the speaker, “And I’m surprised that you’re not, being married and about to have a kid and everything.”

Her chest tightened, the wind taken from her lungs. Such a hard blow, dealt by someone so close, so least likely to strike. Sansa swallowed back the lump in her throat as she scrambled to find words. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t that easy, that romance wasn’t everything, and that when it was, people were sure to get hurt. She instantly wanted to defend her marriage, exclaim that she hadn’t lost that with Petyr, it was just not front and center at the moment. It was there, it would always be there. Things were just...complicated.

She pulled her hair behind her ears and took a breath, remembering who she was. She didn’t owe him and explanation, and she would not feed into his antagonizing. “Why do you think this girl is so important to him?”

“Did Bran ever tell you about a girl he used to date? One that was pregnant?” Rickon’s voice got smaller, understanding the scandalous nature of what he was sharing.

Sansa remembered the conversation they’d had over the breakfast table as he suggested she wear two bras for breast pain. The image of him talking around mouthfuls of food and grinning popped in her head. She didn’t realize she was smiling until she noticed a pain in her cheeks, and she let a soft laugh escape. “Yeah.”

Rickon continued, “He ever tell you that I used to let them crash in my dorm every now and then?”

“ _You what?!_ ” Sansa raised her head, glaring at her phone. To her understanding, when Bran was involved with that girl, he was pretty far gone into his substance abuse. He had been kicked out of school and was often living out of his car, until he sold that for more drugs. It wasn’t long before Petyr shipped him off to rehab and took control of his finances. To hear that Rickon, who she still thought of as “Little Rickon,” allowed him _and his pregnant girlfriend_ , to sleep in his dorm at _MIT_ , was shocking to say the least.

In a much stronger voice than Sansa was used to hearing from him, Rickon answered, “You heard me. He’s family. I don’t regret it, and you won’t make me feel bad about it, either.”

Well, there. Sansa stood flabbergasted for a moment. Then she furrowed her eyebrows, and plucked a tank top off the shelf. “Fine. Is there a point to this?”

“Yes. I got to know her. I got to see him with her. It’s legit, Sansa. He needs to be with her.” Rickon testified on his brother’s behalf.

Sansa grabbed a pair of folded up yoga pants and set both the top and the pants on the shelf in front of her. “He’s said that?”

Rickon started to backpedal, “Well, it’s Bran, so no. But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

She turned a little and opened the drawer that held her bras, sorting through the various styles and picked one that was mostly lace and minty green--another one of Petyr’s favorites, as she listened to Rickon continue. “Look, I got to know her, she was good then, even though she was an…” His voice trailed off.

“ _Addict_. And there is no ‘was’ in this. Remember what they say about recovery.” Sansa was quick to smack him with the reality of the situation, payback for his punch to the gut earlier.

Rickon sighed. “Yes. It’s a ‘lifelong process.’ And she’s in it. At the same time he is. And do I really need to remind you Bran never used? You sent him away--”

“For his safety.” Sansa defended quickly, hating herself for the quiver in her voice.

Undeterred, Rickon finished his sentence, “And he never used.”

Sansa pulled her top off, letting it drop to the floor. “So _you_ want him to come back into town to meet up with this girl that _you_ think is his soulmate? And he’s never said it himself?”

“Sansa, he looked her up. He’s been talking to her for a couple of weeks now. He wants to come back for less than forty-eight hours. He’s willing to spend more time flying on a plane than he actually will in this city, and that includes sleeping. Just to see her.” Rickon’s voice suddenly sounded so much older to her.

Sansa slid her bra on, and moved her hair over one shoulder, before reaching back to hook the garment in place. Rickon was making sense. Bran didn’t have to come out and say that he loved this woman; his actions alone spoke volumes.

Her mind flashed to Margaery, and she wondered if Bran had kept in contact with her as well. Was this another manipulation? “It’s just still not a good time for him to stay with us, Rickon.”

“Good thing he’ll be staying with me.”

Sansa shifted her breasts more comfortably in the cups and pulled the tanktop over her head. “ _Rickon_.”

“No, you owe me.” Rickon’s voice hardened.

Sansa shucked her pants first, then her underwear, leaving them on the floor of her closet. “Do I?”

“Yes, you do. All that stuff with you and Jon’s phones. Petyr called me. You said you’d be back in time, but you weren’t. He was really worried, Sansa. That was shitty.” Sansa wondered if it was Rickon she was listening to or her conscience.  

She stood still for a moment, pants in her hands, guilt heavy in her stomach. Petyr’s face, so heartbroken and worried when she returned from Olenna, would be burned into her memory forever. Though he didn’t say it, she knew that he entertained the idea that she may have left him. _Actually left him_. Again, a lump grew in her throat as she thought of what that did to him. It had been hard to meet his eye ever since. Difficult to kiss him, to hold him, knowing what hell she’d put him through, for what? To prove something to Arya? To herself? It was self-centered and childish. She didn’t deserve him. He was not self-centered. Okay, perhaps he was, but not in the same ways as she. He had always been more mature, and clearly so much more devoted. He would never lead her to believe that he left her. Her carelessness had been cruel.

She suddenly needed to put her pants on, cover up, close herself off. She’d hurt Petyr before, but now, feeling her daughter-- _their_ daughter growing inside of her, it was different. Hurting him now felt so much more egregious. Petyr was only tightening his grip on her more, and she still had things to do that she’d rather not tell him.

“Fine.” She conceded to Rickon. “When will he be in town?”

“She comes to town in like two weeks, he’ll be here then.” Rickon added quickly, “He’ll probably only be in the city for a couple of hours.  It’s gonna take him a good hour and a half to drive in from my place.”

In two weeks Sansa expected to be holding her daughter in her arms. Perhaps there would be a way to snag him away for a minute to let him see the baby. No matter what had happened with Bran, he was still a proud uncle and she a proud mother. She smoothed her hands over the stretchy material on her thighs and turned back towards her bedroom.

“Ah!” She jumped, startled by the pair of grey-green eyes watching her.

“What?” Rickon asked.

Petyr stood in their bedroom, hands in his pockets, his face smug. Sansa didn’t realize she was answering Rickon until she heard her own voice. “Petyr’s here.”

“Oh, when did he get here?”

The less than flattering image of her naked ass protruding as she bent down around her large cumbersome belly to coax the spandex of her yoga pants up her legs, came to mind. She eyed him, in annoyance. “Good question.”

Petyr took a step forward. Seemingly unaware of her irritation and embarrassment, his finger traced along her shoulder as he spoke. “Apparently Rickon’s met the girl Bran’s so smitten with?” Petyr turned his head towards the phone on the shelf. “What’s her name?”

Sansa stopped listening, thinking back to when Rickon said that he knew Bran’s long lost girlfriend. It was before she’d been topless, _and bottomless._ Mortification gripped her as she thought of her now lumpy and swollen body, and less-than-sensual motions. Her cheeks colored and she swerved away from his touch, dropping her head to look at the floor beneath them.

Petyr had been speaking to Rickon, now further into a conversation that she was missing out on entirely. “I’m going to give you a phone number, and I want you to look it up.” He lowered his voice, speaking only to her this time, “I kept having Olenna’s number looked up, but I’ve never had my own contact researched.”

Sansa raised her head, taking a half a step back. If the Harpy were really under new management, that could very well affect his number too. They wouldn’t notice any change, simply because people were answering for them all along. They’d dialed it, but they’d never researched it. How clever. Sansa felt pride bloom in her chest and her palms started to reach forward before she could stop them.

The third party in the room, broke the spell.  “Um, sure.”  Rickon sounded less than sure, actually.  

Petyr stared inquisitively at Sansa. He no doubt, noticed her uncertain movements. She scolded herself for being so weak, and lifted her chin, firm in her resolve. Petyr rattled off the numbers to Rickon as he took another step forward, this time reaching for her cheek.

Sansa listened to Rickon’s rapid clicking and hasty keystrokes as they slammed down hard. Though she knew Petyr’s hand would make contact, she still had to fight back a shiver when his fingertips brushed against her. Her eyes closed, unable to see him look so lovingly at her, while at the same time feeling his flesh tickle hers. Rickon laughed in the background and then exclaimed, “Whoa.  Whoever this is, they don’t mess around.”  

Her eyes were closed but somehow she knew that Petyr was still looking at her as he asked, “What do you mean?”

Rickon praised the unknown owner to the phone number. “Their firewalls are Dragon-Trio. It’s the best software for this out there, and It’s treating everything as if it’s spam. It won’t release any info at all, not even a name.”  

Sansa finally opened her eyes to see Petyr gazing back, as if lost in a trance. His thumb traced her lower lip and her chest swelled with anticipation. His voice sounded so far away, so disconnected from where they were, what they were doing. “Can you crack it?”

Rickon boasted, “Given enough time and energy drinks, there’s nothing I can’t crack.”

“Good.” His lips curved into a smile as he started to lean forward. “Thank you, Rickon. That’ll be all for now.”

“What?” Rickon asked, not used to being dismissed.

So caught in the undertow of his attention, Sansa didn’t notice his other hand reach up to the shelf beside her, ending the call. She knew he was going to kiss her, and she knew she would like it, but she did not anticipate how profound its effect would be. A warmth gathered inside at the gentle tickle of his lips against hers. How could she refuse? She tilted her head, accepting him, with no little consideration involved.

Her small acquiescence was mistaken for permission. Petyr’s breath hot against hers, his mouth more persistent, running a mile over what she gave. A niggling thought crept into her head as she stood in his grasp. Would he feel this lovingly towards her if he knew what she was leaving to do today? He’d made it clear on numerous occasions that he wanted her safely tucked away from any possible threat or danger, yet here she was, about to do the opposite, again.

Petyr wouldn’t understand. In fact, he hadn’t understood much lately, too deep in his own chauvinistic need to protect the pregnant woman made of glass. As if that wasn’t enough, he’d made her feel horribly guilty whenever she asserted herself, too. A sense of righteousness and indignation started to brew and she began tilting her head away to end their kiss. His hand moved from her arm to catch her other cheek, holding her in place as his passion flowed into her. Her legs locked, fighting the weak-kneed feeling he gave her. Disregarding her own protests, she sighed into him, and brought her palms up to his chest again, this time allowing herself to enjoy the warm rise and fall from beneath the cotton that covered him.

His hand trailed over her throat, and Sansa arched her back, anxiously anticipating the palm’s further descent. He stopped at the crook of her neck for a moment and then settled on her shoulder. Her own urges plead her to give in to what they both wanted. His fingers played with the straps at her shoulder, tugging them down her arm. Very little was any further exposed, but she knew it was the beginning of more. She shook her head out of his kiss, silently rejecting the idea. How much more would it hurt him if they made love, only for him to find out later that she’d deceived him again? No. She would not add insult to injury, especially since she still felt rotten about the last time. She forced herself to form words, “I need to get going.”

Petyr paid little heed to her protests, spurred on by the uncontrolled quiver in her voice. The hand on her cheek moved to the back of her head, threading his fingers in her hair. “I want you.”

Sansa looked up at the recessed lighting of her closet, feeling his warm, wet lips kiss and nibble along the pulse in her neck. He leaned over her belly, ignoring or simply not caring about the awkward angle, that only became moreso as the baby grew. Her eyes fluttered at the sensation of his teeth grazing across her clavicle as he cupped her breast. He released her hair to pull at the straps on her other shoulder.  His voice muffled, speaking against her skin, “I want to see you.”

Her eyes snapped open at that. Her mind instantly went to the long jagged pink lines below her bellybutton. She’d worked hard to keep those hidden once she found out about them. She let go of him, and started to pull a strap up, smiling bashfully. “There’s nothing to see.”

“I disagree.” He leaned forward again.

She wondered if he was trying to seduce her in order to feel closer to her again or if it was simply to get his rocks off, since he was so singularly focused. “Then you are wrong.” She smiled and gently nudged him back.

He raised his head, finally willing to face her, his eyes molten with desire. “No, I’m not. I know what I want.”

His look alone, dampened her sex with need, and she quickly remembered her attire. There were no panties to catch the result of her arousal. If just his eyes could do this to her, she knew she had to get out of there. Sansa flexed her inner muscles to give the relief needed to pull herself together. Putting the other strap back in place, she offered him a placating smile. “I’ve got to go, Petyr.”

She turned to move around him, which with her size, was no small feat. He spun around, and caught her, his grip soft but insistent. His eyes studied her, as if trying to detect a lie as he asked, “Do you think you’re unattractive? Is that why you’re denying me?”

_Yes. I’m a stretched-out, swollen whale, who can’t find my own feet. You only think you want me because you’re horny and I look better with clothes on. Not only that, but I’m ‘denying you’ because I hurt you. And because I’m about do it again. I feel guilty when I look at you and worse so when I think about what you’ve gone through. Moving past the guilt, I resent you.  I resent you for loving me so intensely that you’re suffocating me. I can’t move a muscle without you knowing about it, and it’s killing me. You always watched over me, but you used to let me breathe, and now you don’t. I feel stuck. I just want my family and you won’t let me have that either. You have no right to deny me my mother. You have no right to keep me so caged. And worst of all, you have no right to make me love you, even still._

The words had formed in her brain, stacking on top of each other into the perfect assaultive explanation. This was fight language: you, no right, suffocating, and resentment. Fighting was out of the question; she didn’t have the energy or inclination. With a deep breath, she let it all go, as she had a thousand times before, and instead said, “Cersei is waiting for me.”

She walked past him, not giving him the chance to tell her that he was waiting for her too. She was halfway down the hall when she saw Jon. “Grab a pair of flip-flops. Meet me in the car.”

A few minutes later, Jon handed her the sandals he brought, before sitting down in the driver’s seat. He started the engine and Sansa forced a smile as she waved through the windshield to Petyr, watching her leave against his will. They got about a mile down the road before Jon pulled over. Sansa looked around them, “Why are we stopping?”

Jon lifted his hands to tell her that it was to talk. He asked if she was alright, to which she defensively stated, “Of course, I’m alright.”

He then challenged her, telling her that if he didn’t know her better, he might believe her. He insisted that because he knew her since puberty and was feeling confident how well he knew Petyr, he could tell something was wrong.

“People who notice too much, tend to lose their ability to notice.” Sansa lashed out, gesturing towards her eyes. It was an empty threat, but one, nonetheless.

Jon sighed through his nose and looked out the window. She pushed further, “Can we get going?”

As a last ditch effort, Jon asked her if maybe it would help to talk to Petyr directly.

Sansa rolled her eyes.  “He doesn’t understand.” If he did, he approve of her visiting her mom.

Jon nodded his head in agreement and said told her that he figured it must be a woman thing.

“Excuse me?” Sansa cocked an eyebrow, not used to Jon sounding so sexist, all of a sudden.

He chuckled and told her that Ygritte often told him that he knew nothing.

Sansa laughed a little and shrugged, “In some cases, I’m inclined to agree.” She looked back at the road. “We should get going.”

He shook his head and told her he wasn’t putting the car in gear until she told him why he needed flip-flops.

Sansa smiled, “Because you’re getting a pedicure.”

His eyebrows shot up in both surprise and question.

Sansa laughed again. “Cersei and I are going to the spa, and she’s bringing Lancel, so I’m bringing you.”

His hands came up skeptically, as he made sure she actually said, “Pedicure.”

She shrugged, “What better time than now to file down those talons? We can’t have you gouging out chunks of Ygritte’s legs, can we?” She gave him a sideways smile, to which he sighed dramatically, rolled his eyes, and put the car in drive.

It didn’t take them long to arrive at the spa that Sansa chose at Cersei’s invitation that they go for a “day of preening.” Jon tossed the keys to the valet and escorted Sansa inside. They had barely gotten through the door before Cersei threw her hands up in welcome, one still clutching her drink. “Little Dove!”

Sansa plastered on her award winning smile and took a step forward in an attempt at a strong confident walk, instead of the waddle of a woman due in eight days. “Cersei.”

The golden queen wrapped an arm around her, making a blatant display of their familiarity and smiled in her ear. “I’ve missed you! I’m so please you’ve accepted my offer for last minute grooming before the birth.”

Sansa smiled back at her and said, “How could I resist the opportunity for a little self-care?” When Cersei let go of her, Sansa noticed Myrcella for the first time. “Ah, Myrcella.”

She stepped forward, neither nervous, nor overly confident. She smiled at Sansa and tilted her head in respect. “Sansa.” She then glanced away, her cheeks coloring slightly. “Hey Jon.”

Sansa gave Jon a sideways look. He held his hand up quickly in greeting and then shrugged innocently at Sansa, looking uncomfortable. Sansa stifled a laugh. Myrcella may have technically been an adult, but she clearly wasn’t immune to girlish crushes. Cersei flicked her eyes between the two of them and then smiled knowingly to Sansa before dismissing it.

Cersei smiled brightly and announced, “I have such a day planned for all of us! Mani-pedies, massages-deep tissue for us, pregnancy-specific for you, facials, waxing, eyelash tinting, and for those that desire it, _intimate_ _bleaching._ ”

The memory of Arya admitting to ass-bleaching popped into Sansa’s head and she smiled to herself, still unsure if she were serious or not. _Arya._ A dull ache grew in her chest when she pictured her younger sister laughing. Sansa told herself that there was no room for that now as she shook the thought away. Refocusing, she imagined her body being tugged and plucked every which way for the next several hours and was instantly tired and they hadn’t even begun. Myrcella chimed in, “Don’t forget lunch.”

“Of course.” Cersei smiled proudly at Myrcella, taking a handful of her hair and pushing it back over her shoulder in the way that all mothers do. She then turned to Sansa, “I booked the waxing first.”

“Goodie.” Sansa groaned dramatically for Myrcella to laugh at.

“Now, now, Sansa. This is important. You’re going to be ankles up with a team of people parading by to stick their fingers in your hoo-ha. Do you really want them to have to bushwhack first to find the cave?” Cersei laughed as she walked down the hall, noticing Jon and Lancel for the first time, “Ah, boys.” She let her eyes drop down to the knotted tie keeping their robes closed and gave a naughty grin, “Anything you need _manscaped_?” She let her tongue dip in her drink before saying, “My treat.”

Jon’s eyebrows shot up at the suggestion, and he gave Sansa a look that begged for her help. Lancel spoke up, completely unabashed, “If it’s on your dime, count me in.” He walked past, chest puffed out, all too ready to be first in line.

Myrcella glanced at Sansa and giggled, “Sorry, he’s a bit much, but Dad insists that Mom take him everywhere.”

Cersei smiled and bit her lip in some private amusement when she heard that. “How about it, Little Dove? Would you like to clean things up a bit?”

Sansa hid the frown she felt forming. Up until a couple of weeks ago, Petyr had been helping her in that area. He may have taken advantage, branding her in his own way with his initial, at first. Once it grew out, he stayed true to her more modest landing strip. She didn’t want the doctors staring at his special touch instead of delivering the baby. She’d been satisfied with the work he’d been doing, and the closeness she felt to him both during and after. It all stopped, however, the day that he found her first stretchmark. He fingered the dark line, inspecting it. She knew stretchmarks were probable, even though she’d taken preventative measures against them, but she hadn’t anticipated how completely unattractive she’d feel wearing one, or worse _many of them_. She groaned, “Lead the way.”

A couple of hours later, they had not only finished their group waxing, but also eyelash tinting for all the Lannisters present, and a full round of facials--even Jon. As they left, Myrcella looked at Sansa and Jon, and held her first finger up to her lips in the universal sign for quiet. Sansa limped along, still sore in all her private places, as she gave Jon a sideways glance, which he returned. They watched Myrcella reach forward and filch a granola bar out out of Cersei’s spa bag. She then tossed it in a trashcan as they passed by. She winked at them both and then sped up to walk in step with her mother. “Mom? I don’t feel good.”

Cersei came to a sudden stop, “What is it, sweet girl? What’s wrong? Head or stomach? Did you drink any water today? When did you eat last?” Cersei started rifling through her bag. “I thought I packed a snack in here, next to the tequila, and my extra clips…” She handed her drink to Lancel. “Hold this.” Her head dipped further into the bag. “Where did it go?”

Jon looked at the floor and Sansa stifled a laugh as Myrcella squirmed a little in place and said, “I really need to eat something.”

Cersei sighed in defeat and pushed her bag at Lancel. “Alright, let’s get some food.” She grabbed her drink from Lancel and tipped her head to Sansa, “Lunch?”

When Cersei was far enough ahead, Myrcella explained with a devilish grin. “She would live off of alcohol and Luna bars if I let her.”

Forty minutes and a huge garden salad later, Cersei was whispering in Sansa’s ear, “Finally, your efforts pay off.”

“Hmm?” Sansa had no idea what she was referring to.

Cersei smiled, knowingly. “You picked this spa, on this day, because you knew we’d run into the filthy whore we both love to hate.” Cersei gestured forward to the Tyrell circus that had just come through the door.

A shot of nerves hit Sansa, her heart racing and her palms dripping.

“A chance to corner the cunt, huh?” Cersei grinned excitedly. “Oh Little Dove, you shouldn’t have. I mean, I’m glad you did. You don’t even know.” Sansa was embarrassed to notice the goosebumps that spread over the lioness’ cleavage as she almost squealed in excitement. “Jaime’s kept such a close watch on me lately.”

Sansa knew the feeling. If Petyr knew that this was truly the reason behind her sudden need for a spa day, he would have forbid her to go. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t learned her lesson. It was wrong to act so independently of him, _again._ The best motivation for Cersei would come from Margaery’s own mouth, and Sansa knew that. The Tyrell would be the best at digging her own grave. Sansa felt her phone vibrate. _Almost done? When are you coming home?_

It was as if he knew that Margaery was there. Hours had passed without word from Petyr, and just as Margaery walked in, he suddenly needed to know when Sansa would be home? She shook her head, telling herself that she was paranoid and typed a response. _Not for a bit, still waiting on mani-pedis and massages._

Cersei reached forward, her hand hovering over Sansa’s belly. “Do you mind?”

Taken off guard, Sansa startled a little, “Uh, what?”

Cersei let her hand drop, bursting through any boundary their relationship claimed to have before. “I suspected that’s what you were up to, but I didn’t know for sure. We always look out for each other.” Her hand moved, searching for the baby, “I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks. I just didn’t want to be disrespectful, cross any lines. I know now, that’s ridiculous.”

Sansa sat speechless, feeling the warmth of Cersei’s hand spread across her rounded belly. It reminded her of a few weeks prior, Olenna’s warm smile as she held her belly. With that memory, came the harsh words she spoke in regards to Cersei, and Sansa wondered for a moment if what she shared with Cersei was the closest thing to friendship the woman had ever had. Come to think of it, had Sansa ever had anything more real?

The weight of Cersei’s hand and what it may have meant became a heavy burden to bear, and Sansa’s eyes darted around the restaurant to see who else was watching. This was not appropriate. Cersei knew that, or she seemed to for the past thirty-nine weeks. Trying to focus Cersei back to the topic at hand, Sansa asked, “How did you know what I was up to?”

Cersei startled in excitement, “She kicked! You don’t realize how much you’ll miss it until you don’t have it anymore.” She looked back up at Sansa, realizing she’d been asked a question. “Oh, I’ve been having her followed. It seems as though you have been too. Since we know both know her routine.”

Sansa wouldn’t deny that. Even though both women had been kept under lock and key by their husbands for various reasons, they refused to stay out of the game. They watched and plotted from afar, and took the opportunity to act when they could. Sansa knew what her goal was in all this, but what was Cersei’s? Was this going to be the moment that Cersei struck? If so, things just got a whole lot more dangerous than Sansa anticipated. She glanced around the very public setting and inhaled through her nose. No one would initiate a hit right here in the middle of such traffic, not for someone important anyway. Cersei was impulsive, but not _that_ impulsive. After all, she taken the time to have Margaery tailed, hadn’t she?

Sansa winked, “I just figured I’d give you an opportunity to have a little _girl-talk_ without the men around.”

Cersei smiled again before removing her hand from Sansa and using it to gesture at the waiter. Sansa listened to her instruct the man to extend an invitation to the Tyrells. Margaery was the first to look, her eyes glaring at them before she remembered to force a smile. Loras’ toothy grin was, as expected, genuine. “Shortcake!”

Loras lead the way, trotting forward, Margaery trailing behind, reluctantly. In between them, Olvar followed, unable to escape Loras’ clutches. Lancel was bringing chairs over, and Sansa flashed Jon a look to assist. Neither Lannister, nor Baelish rose from their seat to greet the Tyrells. Sansa’s phone buzzed, _It would be my pleasure to massage you._

She typed a quick reply as the Tyrells took their seat. _Don’t be silly. They’re professionals here._

Just as Loras opened his mouth to say something, Margaery cut him off, “We appreciate the invitation, however _unexpected_.”

Cersei’s genial smile looked like it hurt. “It’s comforting to know that your expectations aren’t high.”

“You look good, Shortcake. Big, but good.” Loras ignored the two women, zeroing in on Sansa. His hand rest in Olyvar’s thigh, “Doesn’t she look good, Olly?”

Sansa smiled politely, uncomfortable both with the distraction from Margaery and watching Varys’ lover pawed so. She felt an odd sense of protectiveness over the man, on Varys’ behalf. Her phone vibrated again, _I’ll take a class. Come home._

She was vaguely aware of Margaery watching her as she spoke with Cersei. Sansa smiled back to Loras as she typed quickly, _Stop. I never get out of the house anymore._

Loras sighed happily, “Baelish sending you love-texts? He’s so _ridiculous_ over you.”

Cersei’s eyebrow rose in irritation over the distraction. Sansa wished she had heard whatever headway was being made with Margaery. Damn Petyr for interfering. It was as if he knew the minute Margaery showed up and was attempting to use annoyance to drive Sansa away from her. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was the next person she saw walk through the front door. Sansa gave a shy smile and shook her head at him.

“No, I’m serious. Every time you two are in the same room, his hands are all over you.” Loras picked up Olyvar’s hand and moved it to his leg, frowning a little. “I wish my guy couldn’t get enough of me, too.”

Olyvar rolled his eyes a little, martyred, and then gave Loras’ thigh a half-hearted squeeze. It was minimal, but enough reciprocation to have Loras smiling again. Margaery’s voice sang across the table, giving her opinion on the matter. “One would think that a _mature_ man, like Baelish, wouldn’t feel the need to paw at his woman in public displays of neediness.”

Unable to tolerate such an insult, Sansa countered, “Powerful men-- _truly powerful_ men, are ageless. They don’t bother with what people think, only with what they want.” To further drive the point home, she added, “Usually, the people who care, are the same people that _don’t matter_.”

Cersei laughed, completely breaking the tension at the table. “So very true, Little Dove. Did I ever tell you about time with the Jumbotron? Let me tell you, Jaime didn’t give a--” She turned to Margaery specifically, “ _fuck_ , who was watching. Though, I honestly think that was rather the point of fulfilling that little fantasy.”

Myrcella coughed a little into her napkin and then asked no one in particular, “So, pampering yourselves a little today?”

Loras smiled brightly, “Yes, we’re prepping.”

That got Sansa’s attention. “Prepping?”

Margaery sneered across the table at Cersei. “For the bachelor party. We need to look our best for when the boys get all riled up and come home.”

Before Sansa could ask if Loras and Olyvar were attending or not, Cersei was quick to jab Margaery. “I thought it would be a conflict of interest for you, _working_ your fiance’s party.” She brought her glass to her lips and added, “But I guess there aren’t many girls around still willing to run bachelor party trains.”

Lancel looked up, immediately interested. “Train? Really?”

Loras was the definition of aloof. “How many men does it take to count as a train?”

Sansa saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and when she turned, was shocked to see Jon quietly holding up seven fingers. Her jaw dropped a little in surprise and Jon gave her the not so innocent, ‘What?’ look.

Cersei swallowed back her drink. “Oh, you’ll get that easily. Jaime’s making sure all the Lannister men are going.”

Lancel gave Margaery a look and licked his lips. It was slimy and gross and made Sansa very much doubt that Cersei had ever actually acted on whatever attraction she felt for him previously. Surely, she was as repulsed by his behavior as much the rest of the female population, one very unlucky former Fray girl excluded. Margaery, naturally, gave him a flirty smile, that only encouraged men like him, as she answered Cersei. “ _All_ the Lannister men? Mm, that is tempting isn’t it? I always fantasized about sharing my bed with a _father_ and son.”

Sansa was surprised by her own reflexes as her hand shot out and clamped down on Cersei’s leg, keeping her seated. Every muscle in Cersei’s body was flexed and Sansa knew in her current state, that should Cersei push it, she wouldn’t be able to hold her back. Sansa had never seen someone grind their teeth as they smiled before, and was glad that she was not on the receiving end of the Lannister’s threatening glare.

It was Loras that attempted to segue to another subject, which unfortunately, was not the strongest redirection. “That dream will have to go unfulfilled. You’re marrying Joffrey.”

“Rather quickly.” Sansa pointed out, cautiously. “Isn’t the bachelor party in just two more days?”

Margaery turned her attention to Sansa. “It is. We moved the wedding up because _Joffrey and I_ ,” Her eyes flicked to Cersei to make sure her punch landed. Though Cersei was seated, her eyes tracked her prey. Sansa would warn Margaery not to bait the hungry lioness, except that watching Cersei tear her limb from limb was almost as good as getting to do so herself. Margaery looked around the table, her expression turned mournful, “Decided that we need more joy in the world, in light of all the recent sadness.”

Myrcella frowned politely. “I am so sorry to hear about your grandmother.”

Margaery nodded solemnly, and on cue, Loras sniffled, “It was just awful.”

“Death often is.” Cersei went to take a sip of her drink, and then shook her glass at Lancel when she saw that it was empty.

He pouted, “They have servers.”

“And I have my own.” The fire behind Cersei’s eyes brooked no room for protest.

Lancel got up and stomped off. Sansa noted how quick and easy it was to get rid of her chaperone. Understanding immediately, that she was to do the same, Sansa gave Jon a meaningful look, to which he shook his head no. Jon’s loyalty wouldn’t allow him to leave her.

Margaery’s eyes narrowed, “It’s especially terrible when the life is cut short.”

Cersei rested her hand on her flat stomach, (had she eaten?) as she laughed again. “Wasn’t she in her eighties?”

“And she was quite healthy.” Margaery’s lips pursed.

Sansa tried to remain quiet, not wanting to call any attention to herself, being the guilty party. She was about to change the subject when Myrcella piped up, “I think that pampering yourself helps keep you healthy.” Her eyes darted to Cersei before adding, “We were just leaving for massages.”

“Massages! I love massages!” Loras exclaimed, a hopeful gleam in his eye.

Margaery gestured to the table, “We haven’t eaten yet.”

Loras was already rising from his seat and waving his hand dismissively. “Oh, Margy, we were just walking through and you know it.”

Margaery scowled, “We shouldn’t intrude.”

Cersei flashed her a grin, so awkwardly wide with it’s falseness, that Sansa lost count of her teeth. “You’re more than welcome.”

The trashy Tyrell paused for a minute and then gave her own severe smile. “Why, thank you, _Mother.”_

Sansa wondered if she’d have to restrain her again. To her surprise, Cersei turned from the table to lead the way. As the group walked, leaving Lancel behind to wonder where they went, Loras asked, “So, Shortcake, any name ideas now?”

Sansa felt panic rise in her chest. Again he had asked, and again she had no answer for him. She hated herself for not knowing what to name her child. Her baby was due in eight days, and so far the birth certificate was going to read: Girl Baelish.

She felt her nerves calm when Cersei saved her by interjecting, “A name should mean something.”

Margaery involved herself, as well. “Margaery means: Child of Light.”

Sansa scoffed and then looked quickly to make sure no one noticed. Myrcella did, and looked down quickly to hide her own smile. Cersei pushed the door open as she made no effort to hide her snicker and said, “Your mother would have done well to research the meaning a bit more before deciding on it. Especially since Loras’ name has to do with childbirth and we all know that’s not his path in life.”

“And what exactly does ‘Cersei’ mean anyway?” Loras asked, somewhat offended.

Cersei shrugged, and looked at the door to the male massage room. “Goddess of magic.”

While magic was a stretch, Cersei seemed to have an endless fountain of knowledge about the most random things like astrology, the meanings behind names, and could even sense when people were pregnant. In another time, Sansa might have wondered if she was a bit of a witch. In this day and age, however, Cersei was just a bored housewife with a lot of free time. Loras smiled, forgetting that he was offended moments before. “Names can be funny. Come on, Olly.”

He gripped the blonde’s hand, and all but dragged him through the door for their massage. Jon gave Sansa a pleading look. She laughed a little to herself, not blaming him for wanting to avoid being stuck in a room with them, everyone naked and getting a rubdown. Club rules didn’t allow males in female massage areas, and she was sure Jon’s presence would only impede whatever Cersei had planned, anyway. “Go on.”

Jon pursed his lips, silently huffed, and when no one was looking, flipped her the bird as he left. Sansa had to close her eyes and school her face to stop from laughing outright. Cersei turned to her and smiled, “Sansa means _sacred_.” Sansa smiled even though she often felt anything but.

“What does my name mean?” Myrcella smiled.

Before Cersei could say, Margaery interrupted to make a show of addressing Sansa directly. “Sansa, I wanted to thank you for letting Baelish out.”

“Out?” Sansa raised a questioning eyebrow.

“For the bachelor party.” Margaery walked around the long massage beds, giving the staff a polite smile as she spoke. “It only seemed right that he come, since he’s providing all the girls. Well, _most_ of them.” As her hand trailed along the bed, her eyes flashed up to Sansa. “I rather like _Mother’s_ idea of me showing up. I always wanted to pop out of a cake.”

“Such an aspiration to have.” Sansa rolled her eyes.

Margaery’s grin grew to a sneer before she made a mock pouty-face. “I hear men really like to let loose at bachelor parties. Perhaps in the spirit of things, your _ageless, powerful_ man will let loose _in me_ again.”

Sansa lost the feeling in her hands before realizing that she’d clenched her fists tightly enough to stop the circulation in them. Cersei jumped in, “I’m impressed by your ability to remember things that happened so long ago. Doesn’t senility run in your family? Way to work against a handicap.”

“ _Ran_ .” Margaery glowered. “That was before Gran died _abruptly_.”  

Still raging from mention of the past, Sansa scowled, “Insinuate one more time that the old hag died of anything other than natural causes, I dare you.”

“Why? Feeling guilty?” Margaery eyed her.

Sansa knew she couldn’t travel down this path. She didn’t look at Cersei, knowing immediately that if she did, it would only tarnish her claim to innocence. She decided to sidetrack her. “Honestly Margaery, I don’t really care whether or not you and Petyr fucked-- _years ago_ .  My only interest in the matter is whether or not you actually took the money he paid you? I’m curious just how _dedicated_ to the role you were.”

“Little Dove!” Cersei exclaimed, and then barked a laugh. “I never thought of that! I bet if we look back, we’ll see the charge cleared.”

Margaery’s lips pursed, and Sansa blinked in disbelief. “Oh my god. You did, didn’t you?” She held her belly as it bounced with her sudden and unexpected laughter, her daughter kicking her disapproval at being jostled so. “You really are a whore.”

“Shit, this is good.” Cersei chuckled as she wiped away the tears that formed in her eyes and turned to Sansa. “Hey, Baelish looking to hire?”

Sansa would have been offended at mention of her husband ever conducting business with Margaery again, if the image of the slutty Tyrell being demeaned in their club wasn’t so perfect. Myrcella’s soft voice chirped in, “I hear she does trains.”

Cersei and Sansa both quieted and turned to look at Myrcella. The girl smiled innocently back at them, “ _What?_ ”

Cersei roared in laughter again. “Hear that, Margy? Your _skills_ are marketable.”

Apparently finished with being made the butt of their jokes, Margaery dropped her robe and ran her hand over her naked body, revealing a tattoo over her right hip that read, _Joffrey’s Lady_. “Laugh all you want. Your son is mine now.”

The blonde blur that flew past Sansa was indistinguishable. She wouldn’t have known it was Cersei lunging forward if she didn’t look down to realize that the Lannister’s bag had been shoved into her hands to hold. Sansa nervously glanced around the room for the attendants that had been at the counters when they first entered. They had all gone. Myrcella whispered, “While you two were laughing, I scooted them out.”

Sansa was a little surprised by that initiative and foresight, and felt the need to praise her. “Nice.”

Myrcella smiled. Cersei had her forearm against Margaery’s throat, choking her in place. Something small and shiny caught Sansa’s eye and she looked down to see Cersei parting Margaery’s legs with a small blade. Rivers of blonde waves cascaded down Cersei’s back beautifully as threatened, “It would be so easy to kill you, right here, right now.”

“You won’t, though.” Margaery tried to give off a confidence that she didn’t have. No one would in that position.

“Wouldn’t I?”

Margaery’s eyes almost glowed under the threat of death. “What would your baby boy do if you killed his fiance?”

Sansa leaned against one of the tables, her body tired from standing so long. It was hard not to jump in, demand a piece of the bitch. She knew better, though. If Cersei didn’t kill her right here, which was looking quite likely, the actions of today would only cement her decision to do so in the near future. This was it, the tables were turning.

Cersei laughed. “Boys get over girls.” Sansa watched her tease the tip of the blade against her thigh. “I can’t decide. Should I crush your windpipe with my arm or slice the artery in your thigh?”

“You won’t do either. It’s too public of a place. It would be an open declaration.” Margaery lifted her chin proudly, which only gave Cersei more access to her throat.

“Go for the windpipe.” Myrcella took Sansa by surprise again as she explained, “Bleed outs are too messy.” What a change in Myrcella from the last time they’d been in similar circumstances. Perhaps it was that this meant more to her than some cheating, herpe-laden cousin, or maybe Cersei had taken her further under her wing.

“Like mother, like daughter.” Margaery observed.

“Don’t talk. You’re toxic and I don’t want you anywhere near my brother.” Myrcella advanced on her.

Margaery chuckled, “I’m toxic? You’re naive if you think your brother is a saint.”

“Let me.” Myrcella coaxed the knife out of her hand. Cersei gave her a questioning look to which Myrcella nodded some assurance and brought the sharp tip back to Margaery’s thigh.

Myrcella was smaller in stature than Cersei and slid between her mother and the Tyrell easily, raising her forearm to rest just below Margaery’s throat. Cersei looked at Myrcella, “You got it?”

“Yes.” As soon as Cersei’s arm pulled off of Margaery, Myrcella’s slid into place, slamming the Tyrell back against the wall with renewed force.

Cersei smoothed Myrcella’s hair out of her face and down over her back. “That’s my sweet girl.” She looked back over her shoulder to Sansa with a proud grin, “ _Myrcella_ means: warlike, martial, and strong.”

Sansa never would have thought of Myrcella that way before, though seeing her now fiercely defending her family, the name fit. Sansa decided to say as much, “I knew she’d find her way.”

Cersei kissed side of Myrcella’s head and asked, “Hear that? Sansa’s proud of you too.”

Margaery made a groan of disapproval and Myrcella nicked the surface layer of skin on her thigh in response. Cersei laughed and clapped obnoxiously. “I would lean more into the throat. Only because it’s really pretty when you watch the blood vessels pop in their eyes.” She held her hands up quickly. “Not that I’m criticizing. It was just a helpful suggestion.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Myrcella said before addressing Margaery again. “Saint or not, I won’t let you poison my brother.”

Margaery’s voice was ragged and strained as she said, “You won’t kill me, because my family still has the fastest shipments in town.”

Myrcella kept her hold while Cersei paced back and forth in silence, clearly mulling it over. Sansa wanted to shout out loud that she knew what was up with the shipments, or that she had a lead on it, anyway. Keeping Margaery alive wasn’t worth it. Instead, she kept quiet, knowing how catastrophic it would be if the Lannisters were made aware that the Baelishes knew something they didn’t. After a moment, Cersei leaned forward, bringing her mouth next to Margaery’s ear. “Business has never meant as much to me as pleasure.”

“Uncle Tyrion says that business _is_ pleasure.” Myrcella contested, never relinquishing her grip.

Cersei sighed, “What are you saying?”

“Dad would be so happy if we could get the fastest shipments.” Myrcella smiled.

Margaery coughed as she mocked them. “Let’s make Daddy happy.”

Cersei eyed the Tyrell and growled to Myrcella, clearly torn between her daughter’s logic and her own need to murder. “Let me handle your father.”

Unlike her mother, Myrcella wouldn’t be baited by the whore she pinned against the wall. “But Mom, you’re always telling me to be less sentimental, make the tough decisions. I really think this is one of those times. She has something we want.” Myrcella looked back over her shoulder, pleading. Margaery tested her distracted attention only once, before learning quickly that Myrcella was great at multitasking. Also, that for as small as Myrcella was, she had decent upper body strength.

Sansa introduced some doubt. “What makes you think she will tell you anything?”

“She won’t.” Myrcella shook her head. “But Joffrey will.”

Sansa felt things grinding to a halt. Her heart sped up, they were so close! She was even about to dial Bronn herself to dispose of the body. “Weren’t you just saying that she was poisoning him against your family?”

“Release her.” Cersei groaned. “Joffrey may choose her now, but he knows who butters his bread.” She shot Margaery a glare as she explained, “He’ll remain loyal to the Lannister checkbook if nothing else.”

Desperate, Sansa added, “Tyrells are known for their wealth…”

Cersei smiled, “They _used_ to be. I wonder just how rich they are now, seeing as how they’re selling all their profitable properties like it’s a liquidation sale.”

Sansa silently cursed to herself. It was true, though the Tyrells used to be known for their wealth, Petyr had done a great job of cutting up their credit cards. The look that Margaery gave Cersei could have melted the paint off the wall. Cersei shrugged, “He’s tying himself to a sinking ship. He’ll come running to Momma, begging for help out of this shit-show of a relationship. He won’t bother keeping confidences then.”

Myrcella let go of her grip and took a quick step back, still brandishing the knife towards Margaery. Cersei was letting the marriage go through, expecting her son to spy and report back whenever he was running low on cash. Margaery snatched her robe up and tried to laugh, her throat too hoarse. “You think so? Wanna bet?”

Cersei’s cheek twitched, “He’ll never stop needing money. Your crusty cunt, however, is bound to dry up and wear out at some point.” She pointed towards Margaery’s hip and smirked, “I doubt he’ll call you _his lady_ then.”

Margaery tied her robe closed and made for the door. “You couldn’t be more wrong. I’ve got your boy so whipped, I’m surprised he still remembers he has a mother.” Dimples formed at her cheeks as she taunted them. “But because I’m going to be such a good wife and soon to be daughter- _in-law_ , I’ll do you a favor. I won’t tell Joffrey about today. I’d hate for it to _poison him_ against you.”

Completely unfazed, Cersei smiled almost merrily as she shrugged, “Well, then, I’m indebted to you.”

Myrcella tipped her head to Margery, “And, a Lannister always pays her debts.”

Sansa felt a chill at how perfectly insync mother and daughter Lannister were in that moment, both looking as if to be the same woman at different times in her life. Myrcella had not been jaded by the years the way Cersei had, but make no mistake, there was a hardness to the girl that Sansa had not realized before. This was how a family ran. More than that, on a primal level, this was _a pride_ in action. Margaery must have felt it too because her response muted, a simple glare and sneer, before she threw the door open and stormed out.  

“You know she’s going to tell Joffrey, right?” Myrcella asked Cersei.

Cersei smiled, “He understands that any woman he marries has to be tough. He will expect some sort of initiation.”

“Initiation?” Sansa’s eyes widened. “Like a hazing?”

“It could easily be made to look like one. A ‘welcome to the family, don’t hurt my son’ sort of thing.” Cersei opened the door and snapped her fingers. A beautiful mixed drink appeared in front of her. Sansa peered around to see the owner of the extended arm holding the drink. It was of course Lancel, looking irritated as ever.

Myrcella sat on one of the massage beds and gestured for Sansa to do the same. Sansa perched on the edge of her bed and looked over at Cersei, “You’re really accepting this wedding, aren’t you?”

Cersei shrugged and moved towards her bed. “My therapist says you can only make things better when you accept them.” She took a big gulp of her drink and smiled at the welcomed dose of alcohol. “So, why not accept things now, and use it to fortify my family? Besides, I hear that not everybody in the Tyrell camp enjoys being there, which could be quite useful.”

Myrcella pressed the button by her bed, and then lay flat on her belly. Four attendants came in, and returned to the counter, sorting through lotions. Sansa raised an eyebrow at Cersei and repeated her words to her, “ _Fortify my family? Tyrell camp?_ ”

Cersei tipped her head at the line of staff in front of them. “That one.”

A young blonde buck, with rippling biceps and pronounced pecs, stepped forward. The woman definitely had a type. Cersei set her drink down to disrobe and gave him a cheeky grin. Sansa tried not to stare at her body, shockingly youthful considering both her age and diet. Sansa watched the blonde lay a courtesy towel over her as she laid face down, and started working on her shoulders. Sansa looked at the two masseuses left, one man and one woman, and was very much aware of the level of nudity in the room. How had she not expected this? Her stomach tightened and she grew hot, as if she’d been in the sauna, though she hadn’t. She couldn’t tell if it was anxiety or another false contraction. Whatever it was, she took comfort that it wasn’t painful. Her hand held her robe together as she took a deep breath and wondered just how naked a “pregnancy massage” required one to be.

Before she had a chance to think about it too long, the man grabbed a tray of lotions and walked out, leaving only the female to tend to her. Sansa wondered for a moment if Petyr had somehow engineered that, and then told herself that guilt and pregnancy hormones were making her paranoid. She spoke to Cersei as she untied her belt. “You make it sound like you’re going to war.”

On Sansa’s other side, she heard Myrcella sigh as a particularly attentive masseuse kneaded the tops of her thighs, coming dangerously close to sliding under the towel draped over her behind. Sansa felt the pressure in her belly releasing, and her body cooling. As much as she wanted this baby to come, she couldn’t help but feel relieved that it was just the braxton hicks that Luwin and the internet prepared her for. Going into labor during a massage wasn’t on her list of to-dos.

Cersei’s head turn against the table to face her. The cat-like grin she wore and the way her eyes sparkled as she spoke, was nothing short of predatory. “And you make it sound like that’s a surprise.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to dethronejane for test running this chapter in it's early stages -- I hope you like all the changes since :-)


	38. A Grand Gesture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even better than lying.

Petyr never felt comfortable in the highrise that Jaime operated from, but what was comfort compared to progress? The Lannister brothers had slipped out onto the terrace some ten minutes prior, when Petyr joined them, leaving the bachelor party raging inside.

“Baelish!” A cigarette hung carelessly from Jaime’s welcoming grin. 

Petyr tilted his head and raised his scotch glass to him in return greeting. 

“Baelish is here?” Tyrion asked, looking over his shoulder. He was standing with his back to the party, staring over the railing. Petyr watched one arm move in a familiar motion as Tyrion gave an obscene groan of pleasure. 

Petyr appreciated the indecency of Tyrion Lannister jerking off a highrise, to the street below, even if it was childish. Jamie swallowed down his drink and explained, “It’s a bachelor party, Baelish.” 

“It is.” 

“What is a bachelor party without a little cum-and-games?” Jaime laughed at his own joke. “I happened to notice that my little brother wasn’t defiling any of your girls tonight.” 

Petyr added that tidbit of information to his memory bank. Things must be more serious than Shae let on if Tyrion was opting to keep his dick in his pants. Well, at least, out of other women, Petyr amended. Unless, of course, things were becoming more serious only on Tyrion’s side. Out of the two of them, Petyr believed she lacked a sense of loyalty, moreso. Tyrion demonstrated his ability to be loyal, in his unwavering devotion to Jaime. 

He looked up when he realized Jaime was still explaining. “He said that he’d had them all before. I told him that it wasn’t a family occasion if he wasn’t off busting his nut.” 

Tyrion’s arm stilled for a moment, his breathing labored. “I can’t hold back any longer, is Baelish in or what?” 

Petyr raised an eyebrow. 

Jaime smiled, “In the interest of my brother’s active libido, and my determination that this party be a true Lannister event, we made a wager.” 

“You know how I feel about bets.” Petyr played along.  

“Tyrion thinks he can hit someone on the street with his load. I said that he couldn’t. We’re too high up for him to aim something like that.” Jaime shrugged. 

“ _ In or fucking out _ ?!” Tyrion growled, his laugh forced. 

Petyr wasted no time, “How would we ensure he hit his mark?” 

“I sent Kevan down to watch.” Jaime took another drag off his cigarette. 

“That’s hardly fair. Kevan is your man, after all.” Petyr sipped from his glass. 

Tyrion moaned, his body quaking as he exclaimed, “ _ Fuuuuck! _ ”

“He’s going to video chat it if someone is hit.” Jaime shrugged. 

“ _ Yes _ , oh yeh-heh- _ esssss _ .” Tyrion started rocking into his hand, owning the joy his climax brought him. “Take it! Take it  _ all _ , city below!” 

Petyr chuckled. “Alright, five hundred says he makes contact.”

Jaime’s phone chimed with Kevan’s call. Tyrion turned, still tucking himself back into place, and picked his drink up off the ground. His expression was euphoric as he said, “I hope some sorry-sop, catches a great big glop.” He then laughed at his own rhyme, clearly beyond inebriated. 

“I can think of better ways to spend an evening.” Petyr lips quirked. 

Tyrion shook his head, “Sorry. It’s the Molly. Always makes me feel a touch manic.” 

“Is ecstasy the best choice, when you aren’t interested in fucking?” Petyr asked with a touch of bitterness. He’d passed by the table of coke for that very reason, knowing how the drug affected people. Well that, and he only ever used his own supply.

Tyrion’s eyes flashed to him, inspecting him more closely. He was much more aware than Petyr had originally given him credit for. “I never said I wasn’t interested in fucking, Baelish. Just that I’ve already sampled your wares.” 

“He says you hit the doorman’s left shoulder.” Jaime sighed. 

“Thanks for the fast cash.” Petyr teased. 

Tyrion laughed, “Pay up, brother.” 

Jaime scowled as he tossed a wad of cash toward Tyrion and then towards Petyr. “He’s a doorman. He doesn’t count as a person.” 

“Poor sportsmanship is an ugly suit to wear.” Tyrion made a show of counting the money as if not trusting his brother. 

Petyr watched their banter, with an amiable smile, though kept aware of his surroundings. He was here for a reason, and celebrating Joffrey’s step towards matrimony, with his future bride grinding in his lap, was not it. Neither was watching the Lannister brothers bet on high-rise money shots. 

Everyone else remained behind the glass. The bass pumped throughout the penthouse, and the lighting system flashed over the crowd of randy men and the handful of girls Petyr himself had selected to attend. Ros volunteered herself to join  _ her  _ girls. If he were naive, he might think that the hostess was truly taking ownership of her role. Perhaps she was. He was not naive, however. This was Sansa’s doing. 

A small sliver of hope beamed inside him at the thought that his wife had taken such a measure. Even if it was only minor jealousy, that in and of itself, was a lot. Particularly so, when paired against her increased distance and cold rebuffs. 

Tyrion’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “Kevan should stay by the curb and make nice with the doorman.”

There was something about his tone that told Petyr it was less of a suggestion, and more of a directive. Jaime would only accept directives from his brother in front of others, if they were preplanned. Jaime nodded, “Already handled.” 

“We appreciate the women, Baelish, and your company. However, even on this joyous occasion, Jaime and I are unfortunately handling a little business at the moment.” All the jest had drained from Tyrion’s face, as he began to excuse Petyr. 

“I find joyous occasions are the best places to conduct business.” Petyr inserted himself. 

“Fuck it, Tyrion. It’s Baelish. He won’t care about this domestic matter.” Jaime flicked his lit cigarette over the railing, and poured himself another drink.  

“ _ Family _ matter, brother.” Tyrion implied the importance of a shared last name. 

“I decide what’s a family matter.” Jaime flashed Tyrion a glare. 

“Surely,  _ your wife _ would be considered one.” Tyrion pushed further. Petyr would have been surprised by his brazenness,  if it weren’t for the drugs coursing through the little man’s system. 

He had some idea of what the brothers were up to, or he wouldn’t have bothered joining their little private party. The Lannister bachelor party was not high on his list of favorite places to be, and upon hearing Margaery would be there, became his last. He had been maneuvering things to his personal benefit for a while now, and tonight they would pay off. By this time tomorrow, Sansa would be back in his arms, giving him all the love and devotion he’d grown spoiled on. Avoiding the slutty Tyrell at a party was worth it.

“Bring him out.” Jaime snapped his fingers. 

For the first time, Petyr noticed the blinds had drawn over the sliding glass, shielding them from view. A man with a black cloth bag over his head was thrown to the ground before him, his hands and feet tied. Judging by the muffled exclamations, he had been gagged as well. Jaime had poured himself a line on the railing and brought a straw down to snort it. He pinched the bridge of his nose and smiled. “Baelish’s a married man. He’ll understand. Sometimes a husband has to take action.”

Petyr knew it was Lancel before they removed the bag. Rather, he had counted on it being him. He’d came to the party with the specific intent of negotiating his detainment. He had planted the seed in Jaime’s head a while ago, and it had been steadily growing. Petyr knew the bachelor party was the ideal time to strike, not only for himself, but for Jaime as well. What better opportunity than when everyone was together? No one would be paying close attention, and then later when things were discovered, no one would believe anything sinister, because they were all present. Would they admit that the entire Lannister crew was unable to protect one of their own?

Unless of course that threat came from within. At first Petyr thought the little bet the brothers had going was just more of the Lannisters’ impetuous behavior. Kevan’s convenient absence, however, told otherwise. It was right of Jaime to handle this with caution, waiting for optimal conditions. Kevan was loyal, and out of the connected Lannisters, the most experienced and capable. Should he find out about Lancel, he would most certainly turn on Jaime. Indeed, a terrible loss to their force. 

Tyrion shook his head, “This isn’t all _just_ family business, Jaime.”

Feeling as if he was being too quiet for comfort, Petyr tilted his head knowingly. “Sometimes the line between business and personal, isn’t as clear.” 

Jaime lit another cigarette, blowing a large smoke ring at the night sky. Tyrion stood silently, gauging whether or not to let things play out with Petyr present, or to insist on more privacy. Before Petyr could say anything else, the words were stopped abruptly as Jaime kicked Lancel hard in the gut. “She’s  _ my  _ wife! _ ” _ He kicked him again. “Do you hear me, you insignificant little shit?” 

Petyr glanced at Tyrion, who looked down to his feet, either too embarrassed by his brother’s jealousy to comment, or respecting how little it involved him personally. Jaime lifted his head, sweat visible on his brow as he explained to Petyr. “He’s trying to fuck my wife.” 

A sense of self-reserve kept Petyr from voicing that there seemed to be a lot of that going around. Luckily, Jaime wasn’t done speaking. “More than that, he’s been running his mouth. Telling the world that he’s responsible for Renly’s hit.” 

There weren’t enough families, chess pieces in the mix to confuse things enough to believably deny it. Petyr nodded, “So I’ve heard.” 

“How convenient for you, Baelish, to have someone so willing to take the credit for your work.” Tyrion did not neglect to notice. 

Petyr knew he’d have to talk fast, and add a touch of defensiveness to his response so that he’d sound as if he hadn’t been planning this very encounter. “ _ Your boy _ , is stirring the pot, spouting off at the mouth long after the fires have died down. Things were running smoothly with the Tyrells not knowing where to place blame.”

Jaime said nothing. His face was guarded as he peered at Petyr, trying to determine whether or not to believe him. There was logic to Petyr’s words, though it was flimsy at best. Tyrion pushed further, “With a name to pin it on, however, your ability to avoid retaliation would be assured, should the subject ever arise again. With a baby on the way, it only makes sense that you’d value that card in your pocket.” 

He wasn’t wrong. Petyr knew going in that Tyrion would be the harder one to convince, as per usual. Luckily, he had planned for that argument as well. “It is precisely because I have a baby on the way that I didn’t want to rock the boat.” 

“Rock the boat?” Jaime’s chin lifted as he questioned Petyr. 

Petyr shook his head, “Him running around, drudging up the past, would be upsetting the stability our families have now. However tentative.” 

“ _ However tentative _ , is right.” Tyrion looked down into his drink, as if feeling the weight of those words.

Jaime suddenly kicked Lancel in the gut, a muffled yell and coughing followed through the gag. Jaime kicked him again before saying, “See? Baelish even, agrees. Running your mouth is bad for business, you dumb fuck.” 

Tyrion cleared his throat. “As Jaime so eloquently put it, you agree that Lancel needs to be dealt with?” 

Petyr nodded. “I was expecting your family to take care of it’s own.” To continue his performance, Petyr threw some attitude their way. “And, if I might add, it’s been taking you quite a while to handle your affairs.” 

Jaime’s jaw tightened. “It’s a delicate situation.” 

There was no need to pretend he didn’t understand. “Kevan.”

Jaime sighed deeply in agreement, and then stepped on Lancel’s hand. The crunch of knuckles breaking was barely audible under the shrill scream. Luckily, penthouse suites and amazing sound systems went hand-in-hand. When the wailing lulled, Tyrion added, “It’s not just the Tyrells that would rage over Lancel’s claim.”

“It’s the pig too.” Jaime answered the implied question. 

Of course, there was Stannis to consider. He couldn’t prove that Jaime and Cersei killed Robert, but it was considered fact in their crime underworld. If he heard that a Lannister was responsible for Renly’s death too, he would certainly retaliate. Jaime had done a great job of neutering him over the years, but every man has his limits. It would be inconvenient for all parties involved if Stannis sicced the police force on the Lannisters. Petyr had planned for chaos leading to Margaery’s demise, but wanted only a controlled anarchy of his own making. Stannis would be another variable he simply didn’t need right now. He decided to keep this information under his hat for later, knowing vengeance not to have an expiration date. Petyr agreed, “This must be quieted. Stannis is useful. I’d hate to lose his skills over any vendetta he may develop over this.” It was then that he drew a deep breath. Time to shine. “I will handle Lancel.” 

He pulled out his phone and texted Bronn, as the brothers began to react, somewhat surprised. Tyrion was more articulate in his response. “Why would you volunteer for such a task?” 

“Because of Kevan.” Petyr used his knowledge of the Lannister infrastructure against them. “He’s valuable overall--even to me.” 

“Even to you?” Jaime scoffed. 

Petyr smirked. “He’s competent. That’s important. I can’t have you sending second rate men to do business in your stead, because you’ve lost the only  _ competent _ man you have over this walking hard-on.” 

Tyrion looked offended. “ _ Only? _ ”

“Well.  _ Almost _ , only,” Petyr shrugged. “If I take Lancel, your hands will be clean for Kevan.” 

“And just who would he blame?” Tyrion asked, trying to decipher Petyr’s train of thought.

“Margaery.” Jaime took over, giving a look that offered no flexibility on the matter. “Kevan will think Margaery heard Lancel’s yammering, and took him out on her brother’s behalf.” 

Tyrion’s lips drew together, knowing better than to voice his disapproval. Jaime put a hand in his pocket, and played with the loose change inside as he admitted, “I told you on the golf course, Baelish. Our wives hate Margaery.” 

“You did,” Petyr agreed, cautiously. The golf course felt so long ago. 

Jaime fingered the contents of his pocket, and sipped off his drink for a moment. Just when Petyr was about to break the silence, Jaime spoke. “I have always provided for my wife. Always. Even before we married…” 

“Jaime--” Tyrion’s warning was gentle, his eyes big and his voice soft. Petyr could only assume Tyrion was reminding him not to incriminate himself in regards to Robert’s demise.

Jaime raised his hand to stop him, abandoning his own need to fidget uncomfortably. “Men win women. It’s that simple.” He took a step towards Lancel. “ _ I _ won her.” He kicked him as he ground though his teeth, “Do you hear that? You little  _ pretty-boy shit _ !” He kept kicking, “You  _ ascott-wearing fuck _ !”

Petyr was glad that it was mostly kicks to the gut. He hadn’t anticipated how badly Jaime might mess Lancel up before he could take him. He needed him to be conscious and coherent enough for Sansa. 

Tyrion sighed as he explained for his brother. “Cersei doesn’t do well with people she doesn’t like still  _ living _ . Naturally, she wants Margaery dead and Jaime hasn’t yet officially supported her in that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “She’s clearly--” Tyrion coughed in emphasis, “ _ unimpressed _ .” 

“She would never look at you otherwise.” Jaime spat at Lancel before literally spitting on him.

Cersei was not a woman to disappoint, much like Sansa. It made sense that her interest would wane if she deemed her lover incompetent at meeting her needs, whatever those needs may be.  _ Also,  _ much like Sansa. “So you would give Cersei further reason to hate Margaery? And therefore, more reason to be upset with you for not supporting her?” 

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Jaime shook his head with a smile. “Cersei will know that it was me that did away with her little toy. She appreciates a husband who eliminates the competition. And she will see that, in doing so, I am supporting her.”

“Because Kevan will think it was Margaery, which will only further motivate him on a personal level to act against her. Much to Cersei’s pleasure.” Tyrion waved his hand in the air for emphasis, still coming to terms with this direction. “Jaime suddenly becomes the supportive husband who, not only offed Lancel, but also impassioned his best man for the cause.  _ Cersei’s _ cause.” He spoke as if bored to death by the tedium of having to connect the dots. Then his head lifted, life returning to his features as he added, “With Margaery gone, getting info out of Loras will be much easier. We may yet discover all the Tyrell business secrets.” Petyr had thought the same, only took it one step further, considering Olenna’s rolodex.

“You’re missing one thing.” Petyr couldn’t let them forget the most important part. “How will you make Kevan think it was Margaery? You’ve established her supposed motive, sure, but what about means? Opportunity?” 

“Well, if she’s here, it’d be easy enough to say last time anyone saw him was scurrying off with her. Some ‘champagne’ action, if ya  _ catch my drift _ .” It was Bronn’s familiar voice that answered. Petyr glanced to the left to see the respected hitman standing beside him with his arms crossed. He had given up long ago wondering how Bronn always managed to just appear, and simply accepted that as a part of the package. If he remembered to, he might ask Arya someday. 

“Bingo.” Jaime chuckled. 

Tyrion nodded, ruefully. “Her decision to be here just made it all the easier. Parties are a prime opportunity to clean house. It will be as if Margaery saw a chance she couldn’t pass up.” 

“She the bird wearing the ‘bride-to-be’ pasties? Giving some blonde kid a bj in front of all his friends?” Bronn gestured back to the penthouse suite behind him. 

Jaime sighed. Tyrion rolled his eyes. Petyr shook his head. 

“What did I say?” Bronn shrugged, his eyebrows lifting to feign innocence. 

Petyr felt he should say something for his hired hand. “It’s just this generation.” 

Jaime nodded and then griped, “No class. You try to teach them, raise them right. But who can compete with the smartphone glued to your kid’s hand, for them to even notice you are standing right in front of them, let alone trying to teach him to be a man?” 

Tyrion sighed, giving his brother an exasperated look as he said, “ _ We digress _ . We’ll say Lancel disappeared, must have crawled home to his wife. In a couple of days when no one’s heard from him, we’ll say that it was awfully convenient that Margaery was there, distracting everyone.”

“Perfect.” Petyr suppressed the urge to smile, so pleased that everything was coming together.

“Shall I take him then?” Bronn gestured down to Lancel, a quivering mess on the ground.

Petyr tilted his head to the Lannisters, waiting for approval. Jaime glanced at Tyrion, who eyed Petyr and Bronn for a moment, before nodding. “Why not.” 

“Parking garage.” Petyr instructed as Bronn wasted no time grabbing Lancel and dragging him away. Petyr looked back at Jaime, “Kevan?” 

“Will be using the front entrance, and therefore the lobby elevators.” Tyrion answered, knowing what Petyr wanted to know. 

The door to the terrace slowly opened and Petyr turned quickly to see who it was. Olyvar. He gave nothing away as he walked by Petyr, offering a practiced smile that hinted at a touch of intoxication. Jaime grinned wide, “If you’ll excuse us, Baelish. We have other matters to attend to.” 

Petyr tipped his head in closing, before turning to leave. He heard Tyrion’s voice behind him, “Olyvar, is it?” 

Petyr fought back a triumphant grin, and kept walking. Things were moving along quite well now. If Jaime and Tyrion were meeting with Olyvar, that meant that Cersei had already reached out to him. She was making a move. As Tyrion had said, turning Kevan against Margaery only strengthened Cersei’s attack. He was always a good foot soldier for their cause, but with a little extra emotional motivation, Petyr was certain Kevan’s efforts would be profound. 

When Petyr reached the parking garage, Bronn had already loaded Lancel in his car. Petyr shook his head. “No, he’s riding in mine.” 

Bronn raised an eyebrow and stared back at him. When he realized that Petyr wasn’t going to respond, he opened the door and hauled Lancel out. The man had fought back only minimally, being that he was bound and gagged. Petyr left the door to his backseat open as he reached into his glove box, and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Here, untie him, and put these on.”

“Not a wise choice.” Bronn shook his head. “He could dislocate his thumb and pop out of these.” 

Petyr glanced down to the bloody mess in his back seat, gauging how courageous he may be, and deciding that he wasn’t. “I’ll just have to take that chance.” 

“Suit yourself, but don’t come crying to me when he’s slipped his cuffs, wrapped his arm around your throat, and made you drive off an embankment.” Bronn was cutting the ties, quick with his hands to avoid giving Lancel any leeway. “I’ve seen it a thousand times.” 

“ _ I will _ call you, Bronn.” The side of Petyr’s mouth pulled playfully, “If I so choose.” 

“That, you will.” Bronn agreed. “Even just to walk an  _ already captured _ man, down some stairs.” 

Petyr knew that he was judging him for such minimal work, but he didn’t care. “I can only have the best managing my affairs.” 

Bronn was not immune to ego boosts. He chuckled and shut the door on Lancel. “It’s always nice to hear I’m worth the money.” 

“I’ll call you, when I’m ready for disposal.” Petyr waited to see Bronn agree before he climbed in and started his car. Up until then, the evening had been merely build up, all coming to this moment. He was going home to Sansa, where he would lay his gifts at her feet. Their daughter was due soon; their entire lives changing in just under a week’s time. He refused to face that without her support, or the stability of how things were before.

Petyr glanced up in the rearview mirror to the heap in the backseat. "I don't really believe in therapy. It's all a sham to me. Paying someone to listen always seemed a bit backwards. I tend to pay people to talk. Or shut up. It appears as though I’ll get a two-for-one deal with you, Lancel. You’re going to shut up  _ and _ listen, because I want you to know why I worked to get you right where you are now."

He put the car in drive and pulled out onto the busy street, deciding to start from the beginning. “Have you ever devoted yourself to a woman?” He didn’t wait for a reply, knowing the lesser Lannister couldn’t offer one if he wanted. “You see, a lot of men confuse lust for love--making amorous proclamations--libido working, but brain not so much.” Petyr clucked his tongue on the roof of his mouth for emphasis. 

“Let me tell you, it’s so much more than just wanting to bury your cock in the same pussy more than once. It takes you over, permeates into everything you say and do, whether you want it to or not.” Petyr eased the brake pedal down, scowling at the line of traffic ahead. He took a deep breath and said, “It’s  _ quicksand,  _ seeping into every crack and crevice, pulling you deeper down, until you’re drowning in it.”

The bound Lancel squirmed and uttered muffled cries. Petyr purposefully misinterpreted, “You don’t believe me?” Petyr sneered into the mirror. “Trust me on this, it starts so small, so  _ inconsequential _ .” He crept the car forward a couple of feet. “It’s as simple as looking at the same woman twice, allowing your attention to be caught. And, you know, that’s fine, that’s  _ manageable _ . Your life doesn’t change from that. Not even when you start looking forward to those looks, engineering not-so-chance encounters to see more of her. It's all still so fun and easy.”

Petyr ignored Lancel’s thrashing against the seat. “You still get to sleep smack in the middle of your king-sized bed, all the blankets for yourself. You may replay everything she ever said to you over and over again in your head, thinking of how deliciously sensual not only her voice is, but also her wit.” Petyr rose his first finger in exclamation, “ _ But _ ! You’re still free to fuck whoever you want--not that you’ll actually want anyone else anymore. So, you basically live celibate until she decides to  _ let you in _ . But that's not the point!” Petyr shook his head, lowering his voice back to a normal volume. “You’re still your own man, even if you go twenty minutes out of your way driving home just to pass by her house, looking to see if the lights are on.”  

The clicking sound of the signal Petyr turned on filled the spaces between Lancel’s moaning and Petyr’s testimony. He looked over his shoulder and merged into the other lane, only to come to another dead stop. “It grows, though. Suddenly, days spent without her turn lackluster, and you start to dread each kiss goodbye. You’ll find any excuse to spend the night pressed against her soft body, so warm and inviting, that you’ve stopped being able to sleep any other way. Clothes become an offensive barrier keeping you from achieving one hundred percent intimacy, as if nudity alone measured that.”

The man two cars back, got out of his vehicle and started screaming at the driver behind Petyr. He sighed at the display through his mirrors, determined to continue his address. “Where you may have liked having some arm candy before, you’ll start to hate it when other men look at her, and absolutely _ loathe it _ if it seems she returns the attraction. It’s absurd, really. Its human nature to notice. Monogamy doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to look around. And I know that, I do. But it’s different with her, all the rules go out the window. It becomes a rain-scented, lemon-tasting chaos that you revel in.” 

Lancel went quiet, resting his head against the seat. “Your growing desire for her makes you fight against your nature, or perhaps it brings you to the very heart of it. You thought you were a man before, but this is a whole new level of self-awareness you didn’t have before. This feeling that she alone gives you, is better than the best there is. Better than all the sex, drugs, and murder you could imagine. Even better than _ lying _ .”

The car accelerated another few feet. “You can try to put words like ‘love’ to it, dress it up and call her darling, sweetheart-- _ wife _ , even. None of it captures what she is to you: woman.  _ Your woman.  _ And only when you have that, a female that is entirely yours, do you understand how wholly  _ male _ you are.” Petyr swallowed at the implication of his own words. His brain flashed a quick mental image of Sansa naked, sprawled across their bed, wanting him,  _ waiting _ for him. There were many things that made him powerful, but it was having Sansa all to himself that made him feel it the most. How could he not with a woman like that? 

“I’m telling you, Lancel, you will reach a point, where her body won’t be enough anymore. You’ll bury your nose in the back of her head as you lay together, the unique scent of her filling your nostrils, and wonder how the wheels spin in there. How does she operate?” Petyr sucked in air and closed his eyes. “To get in her mind, to let her in yours--” He paused long enough to exhale before finishing, “It’s the  _ ultimate _ fucking.” 

Petyr shifted in his seat, accelerating another couple of feet down the road. Lancel wouldn’t understand sex with more than just his dick. “It’s a connectedness you never had before, and you won’t be able to help yourself. You’ll need to get the most out of it, maximize the effect. You’ll master your skills to know what she is thinking and feeling just by watching her. Sugar in her coffee: that time of the month is coming, don’t even think about working late. No panty line and strappy heels: she’s loving her body today, she’ll definitely be on top tonight. All the linens in the wash and all the pictures rearranged in the living room: she’s worried about someone in her family. Third trip out of the house in one day: she’s angry with you and isn’t ready to say why.”

Petyr rambled, lost in his feelings. “If you thought adoring her was the best feeling there ever was, wait until you  _ know _ her. Know that she always tucks the blankets under her feet because she watched Arachnophobia when she was too young to. That she always keeps a twenty dollar bill in the visor of her car because, ‘you never know.’” He sighed, his heart feeling heavy. “And, know that her internet search history contains an odd mashup of various gun websites, better homes and gardens nurseries, post baby body fashion tags, and some  _ Honest  _ website devoted to organic babies, because she’s petrified she’s going to be a terrible mother.” 

Lancel grumbled something from the back. Again, Petyr purposefully misinterpreted. “I know, Lancel, I agree. She was made for motherhood. It would have been criminal to ever consider denying her that opportunity. So you see what I was up against? I never wanted children, never even wanted a wife. I stepped in quicksand. And now,  _ I want it all _ .”

Petyr thumbed his wedding band, resting his wrist on the steering wheel. “I’m not saying there aren’t hardships.  _ Losses _ . But you will survive. As long as you have her, your  _ queen. _ Do whatever you can to keep her. Give up all your DVR space to twelve seasons of a show she says she’ll watch, but never will. Get used to having to clean the toothpaste cap, because she’ll smear her brush across it with no concern for the caked paste that accumulates. Let her cousin move into the pool house. Ship a brother to rehab. Become a breakfast person, even though you never were before, and find it starts your day much later than you’d prefer. The sky's the limit. Do it for her. Do whatever you must to feed your need for her. Because, let me tell you,” Petyr pointed his finger in earnest. “You don’t know what loneliness is, until she pulls from you. Her kiss, reluctant and with limits. Her smile, forced and complicated. Suddenly she’s ‘too hot’ at night to be held in bed. Doesn’t have time for breakfast--the morning ritual she’s had since long before you came around, and always had time for before. The minute you sit beside her, she’s up and listing a million things she’s planning to do that day.”

Traffic eased and Petyr was able to pick up speed. A heaviness set deep in his stomach as he lamented. “It seems so minor to anyone from the outside. In our line of work we’ve been cheated, beaten, stabbed, and so on. How painful should it be when our affections aren’t returned? And yet, it’s easily one of the worst injuries to sustain. To feel so alone while she’s just within your grasp, and yet just out of it.” Petyr paused his speech for a moment as he turned off the main road. “Its maddening. You’ll do anything you have to, to put everything back in place. I mean, I have people for this kind of thing, Lancel. I stopped having to bother with this stuff a long time ago, but sometimes it takes a grand gesture. You have to be willing to go the extra mile, get your hands dirty. And that’s you Lancel. You’re my grand gesture. You’re going to get my wife to talk to me again.”

The lesser Lannister’s eyes grew wide as he fervently shook his head in the mirror, mute in his protest. Petyr looked to make sure no cars were around him before speeding up and jamming on his brakes, sending Lancel crashing into the back of the seats with a muffled _umpf!_ Petyr smirked, pleased with himself at the petty assault. “You’re a father. Surely, you understand that there’s something almost spiritual about creating life. Knowing that both you and she can coexist _and_ _thrive_ in one body, one _being_. There is nothing better than this, and there never will be.” 

Petyr pulled onto the private drive that lead to his estate and turned off his headlights, using the moonlight to guide him. A quick check of his phone told him that Sansa was on the phone with Cersei. He almost clicked into the conversation to eavesdrop as he’d become prone to, but somehow felt it was more of an invasion of privacy with Lancel listening too. It wasn’t as if the man could divulge any secrets, but that hardly seemed the point. He quickly disabled the alarm that Rickon installed on both of their phones, meant to notify either of them whenever someone had arrived at their gate. He hit the button as he said, “You may be wondering why I chose you to be my grand gesture.”

Lancel had stopped moving, stopped trying to be free. Petyr drove slowly towards his garage, hitting the button for the door to open. “You thought I didn’t see the way you looked at her? The way you touched her? You want her.” 

Lancel shook his head, moaning his denial. Petyr killed the engine, and turned around in his seat. He held up the photo of Lancel’s arm around Sansa, from so long ago now. “Don’t try to deny it. You’d fuck her if you could. You don’t care about what she means to me, only what she means to your cock.” 

He dropped the photo and got out of the car, opening the backdoor as Lancel squealed at him. “You must be quiet. This is a surprise, remember?” He pulled Lancel up and out of the backseat, pushing the barrel of a gun into his back as he walked him towards the door. “If you make a sound, I’ll kill you immediately. A ruined surprise is not one worth giving.”

Petyr walked the now silent Lancel to the darkened kitchen and sat him down in the chair to the far corner, certain that he would be sufficiently hidden in the shadows. He could hear Sansa’s voice down the hall, and he quickly reached in his pocket to pull the brass over his knuckles. He whispered quickly, “Thank you for listening, Lancel. That was very cathartic. Maybe there is something to therapy, after all.”

Sansa’s voice got louder as she walked closer to the kitchen. “No. That’s not true. They say that burning is the most painful way to die.”

Lancel’s breathing got heavier and Petyr sat in the chair beside him, reaching over to push the gun into the man’s groin, raising a finger to his lips, indicating a need for silence. Sansa crossed the threshold to the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light, knowing the layout so well. “Of course he’ll come home all worked up, it’s a bachelor party.” She reached up in the cupboard, standing on her toes. Petyr noted the muscles in her calves flexing, and trailed his gaze over her thighs, to her ass--barely covered by a pair of stretchy short-shorts. “Of course I sent a pair of eyes, what kind of wife would I be, if I didn’t?” She sighed before she smirked, “Seriously, just let him. Think of it as a reward for not fucking anyone else.”  

She laughed as she pulled a box of crackers out of the cabinet, “You’re terrible.” He watched the ribbed cotton tank top creep up the sides of her hips, stretched to the max over her baby bump. Her hair, caught up in a ponytail, bobbed as she reached back into the cupboard, unable to reach as high as she used to when her stomach was flatter. Petyr appreciated the adorable wrinkle in her brow whenever she was frustrated. She laughed into the phone again, “Bye.” 

He waited until she hung up before teasing, “Do I get a reward for not fucking anyone else?”

Sansa startled loudly, and clutched her chest before turning around. “Petyr! What the hell?”

He kept Lancel in the shadows, and leaned forward for her to see the side of his face in the light from the window. He gave a toothy grin as she chastised him, “Why are you sitting here in the dark, like a lunatic?”  

“Perhaps I’ve been driven a bit mad,” Petyr snipped. “And perhaps, I didn’t want to ruin your surprise.”  

“Surprise?” She raised an eyebrow.  

Petyr stood up, and flicked the light switch to reveal his grand gesture in all of his sweaty, battered, and bloody glory. Sansa blinked, looking between the two of them. “Are those my handcuffs?” 

“Yes.” Petyr flashed a sinful smile, enjoying all the memories they held. “I thought it would mean more.”

She blinked back at him. “Mean more? I am not even sure what all this means in the first place.”

“You don’t talk to me anymore.” Petyr felt no need to mince words as he walked back towards Lancel, letting his accusation hang in the air for a moment before he added, “You don’t _ touch me _ anymore.” He paced back in the other direction. “It’s too much.” 

“Petyr--” She started to speak.

He raised his hand to stop her. “For what reason, Sansa? Because I haven’t killed Margaery yet? I told you I would, and I will. Things are moving along, even if you can’t see them.” 

“I know.” She took a step forward. 

Petyr paced away from her. “Are you so disappointed in me, that you can’t bear to be around me?”  

She shook her head and exclaimed, “No! Petyr, no!” 

“That’s what it is, isn’t it? You think I’ve failed you, so you’re pulling away from me. You can’t respect me anymore.” Petyr stopped in front of Lancel. “You’d rather someone else, someone like him?” Petyr gestured to the bound man pleading for help with his eyes. 

Sansa crossed her arms over her chest. “Now you’re being ridiculous. Stop being so insecure.”

“ _ Stop being _ \--” Petyr stopped himself, incredulously shaking his head. “Twice now, you’ve gone behind my back, put yourself in danger. You’ve shot me down countless times, whenever I attempt any level of intimacy with you. But  _ you _ tell _ me _ that  _ I’m _ the one being ridiculous. You’re driving me crazy, woman!”

“And what are you doing to me right now?” Sansa scowled back at him. “Bringing a mess like this to our doorstep? For what purpose, Petyr?”

His jaw clenched and he ground through his teeth, “ _ A present _ !” He turned quickly and socked Lancel in his cheek. The brass knuckles broke through the flesh and crunched the bone beneath. It had been quite a while since he punched anyone, and he was surprised at how good it felt. He did it again, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath his shirt, and sweat gather in the small of his back. He reeled back and punched him again, suddenly understanding Jaime’s need to repeatedly kick him less than an hour before.

This was not Petyr’s way, but it was Sansa’s, and he would do this for her. Even though he’d never seen his wife raise her fist to anyone, he knew she always derived the greatest satisfaction from good old-fashioned brutality. “Petyr, would you knock it off already, and listen to me?” 

Petyr stopped, lifting his head to look at her. She squirmed uncomfortably before she uncrossed her arms and flung them out. “I’m not disappointed in you, okay? I never should have given you that ultimatum. It was stupid.” 

“Your feelings are not stupid.”

Sansa’s voice softened. “And I feel more for you than I do Margaery. I know you will handle things, and I honestly don’t care when. Not anymore.”

“You haven’t lost faith in me?” Petyr’s face brightened, curiosity still tickling beneath the surface. 

She took long strides to make it across the kitchen to him, wrapping him up in her arms to kiss the side of his face. “No. Not even a little.” 

She kissed the other side as she said, “I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” He brought his nose to hers, staring back in the cerulean pools of her eyes, while the smell of her sweet scented lotion filled his nostrils. 

It was her turn to drop her gaze. “I can’t bear to look at you when I know I’ve disappointed you.”

“Now,  _ that’s _ ridiculous.” Petyr lifted her chin. “Listen to me. Even when I don’t like the choices you make, I want you by my side.” 

“It’s hard sometimes.” She closed her eyes. 

Petyr felt his heart race frantically against the confines of his chest. “To be with me?” 

“Yes.” She opened her eyes to meet his. 

Like so many people describe when their heart is wounded, it was a stabbing sensation that Petyr felt, though it was more in his gut than anywhere else. “What are you saying?” 

She leaned forward, painting kisses over his cheeks, his chin, and his lips. He didn’t reciprocate, couldn’t. He was too stunned. She rest her cheek against his as she confessed. “You protect me from everything, until I can’t do anything.” 

Petyr closed his eyes in defeat, knowing she was right. His hand fell down to her belly, and before he could try to defend himself she continued, “Wolves can’t be domesticated. No matter how pretty the cage, I won’t take to it.” 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I just--” 

She turned her head quickly and caught his cheekbone between her teeth. So unexpected was the move, that he startled and pulled away from her, furrowing his brow. He was unsure of what he’d just experienced, and his quizzical look made her laugh. “I was talking.” 

She was being playful. A playful Sansa was a forgiving Sansa. He made it a point to press his lips together to show her his willingness to remain quiet, though he knew his dimples flared as he did. She chuckled, her own set, pressing upon her cheeks. “It makes me prove my independence.” 

“You’re very independent.” Petyr agreed. 

She cocked her head at him, giving him  _ the eye _ , only barely undermined by the grin that never left. He quickly pressed his lips together again, his cheeks hurting in his elation. She reached down for his hand, holding it in hers, and frowned a little at the blood. “When I do what comes natural to me, I realize that I’ve made you worry.” 

He started to voice a protest as she turned away from him, but was cut off by her continued explanation. “And it feels awful to know that I’ve caused you such grief.” She was suddenly across the kitchen, and Petyr’s body rejected the idea of her absence, taking some tentative steps forward. She bent over to pull a washcloth from the bottom cupboard, and stood back up again. “I start feeling like our closeness will just hurt you more each time I assert myself.” 

He shook his head as he neared her. Did she not realize, her absence was the worst pain he could ever feel? She turned on the tap and ran the cloth under it, still speaking with her back to him. “I don’t want to hurt you, Petyr. You deserve better.” 

She turned around to face him, seemingly unsurprised by his close proximity. His eyes searched hers. She drew a deep breath before she said, “I can’t leave you, and I can’t let you suffocate me, either.” 

“ _ Sansa _ .” He wanted to say more, but was at a loss for words. He let her hold his hand, and dab gently at his knuckles with the cool damp cloth. He hadn’t realized how skinned they had become even with the metal weapon wrapped around his fingers. 

“My poor baby.” She cooed to him as she slowly eased the brass off of him, setting it on the counter with a loud clang. She gently kissed close to but not on the wounds. 

He lifted his fingers, and rubbed her cheek, refusing to let her think any less of herself or to let their natural dynamic be a negative. “Fuck  _ deserve _ . If things were based on who was deserving, I’d never have you.” He dropped his uninjured hand down to her belly again. “I’d never have her.” 

Petyr was surprised to see her smile look almost shy. Sansa was never shy, unless she was flirting. His eyes widened at the prospect. She’d told him how she felt, touched and kissed him, cared for his wounds. Petyr rubbed his hand in small circles. “Do I have you, Sansa?” 

“Yes.” 

His hand traveled the full curve of her belly, teasing at the elastic waistband of her shorts. “Hmm? Do I?”

Her chest rose as her breathing suddenly hitched. Her nod was deliberately slow, agreeing with his full intentions. He let his fingers slip beneath her shorts, watching her eyes dilate as he pressed against her nub. “Do I have  _ all _ of you?”

She bit her lip and looked away from him, exhaling audibly while his fingers sunk further between her folds to skid over her most sensitive of places. He was quite pleased with himself when she started to grip the counter behind her for support, and couldn’t resist leaning forward to nibble her neck. “I can’t hear you.” 

“ _ Ye _ \--” Her voice broke. 

Petyr’s other hand started to lift her shirt, only to be stopped. “I want all of you,” he insisted.

She smiled and nodded with lidded eyes, still writhing under his fingers. Petyr kissed down her throat, and cupped her breast, before burying his face in her cleavage, sucking on whatever fit in his mouth. She gripped his scalp, holding him to her chest, a wordless approval. He grabbed a handful of her ass, squeezing to remind his erection that its time would come. He nibbled on her other breast, and reached for her shirt again.  _ Again _ , she thwarted his attempt at lifting the material. 

“What’s wrong?” His fingers stilled against her nub, his eyes searching hers. 

She shook her head and huffed. “Nothing.” 

“I don’t believe you.” His hand retreated from her shorts, and tugged at her shirt. 

“Petyr, stop it. Come on.” Sansa swatted at his hands, her face flushing. 

His suspicion confirmed, he let go of her. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

She said nothing, just stared ahead, her face hardening. He knew she always prefered to be offended than embarrassed. He tried to disarm her regardless. “You’re beautiful.” 

Sansa sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. Petyr balked, “You don’t believe me?” He glanced around the room, remembering Lancel was there. To his credit, the lesser Lannister had kept quiet. Praying his silence would save him, no doubt. Petyr stormed over to Lancel, and tore the gag away from his mouth. “Tell my wife she’s gorgeous. Maybe she’ll believe it from you.” 

Sansa rolled her eyes as Lancel mechanically replied, “You’re gorgeous.” 

Petyr grabbed his gun off the kitchen table and cocked it. “She’s not convinced, Lancel.” 

His voice hitched in panic, “No! Fuck! Sansa, shit, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

“So, you want to fuck her?” Petyr asked him, his eyes, quite machiavellian as he watched Sansa for a response. She sighed, bored by Lancel’s one dimensional appeal. The slight glimmer of amusement in her eye told Petyr that she enjoyed his present. His heart sped up from the excitement, rushing the blood through his veins. He felt stronger, faster, more powerful. Oh, Petyr knew his wife well, and each confirmation of that only fed the addict in him another fix.

Lancel shook his head vigorously. “No, Baelish, that’s your girl!” He turned to her as he said, “He really fucking loves you! I swear it! He told me so! In the car, I fucking swear it, Sansa!” 

A fire flashed in her eyes as she corrected him, suddenly more invested in this play. “He  _ more than _ loves me.”

Pride filled Petyr at her acknowledgement of his feelings, but he knew he had to stay the course, and asked, “Are stretchmarks ugly, Lancel?” 

“What?” Lancel darted his glance between Sansa and the gun Petyr held. “No! No. They’re hot.” 

“Ugh, don’t lie.” Sansa dismissed his testimony. 

Petyr smacked him with the gun in his hand. “Be truthful.” 

Lancel started to whimper, not knowing which response was the right one. Finally, he admitted, “They’re not hot, okay? Fine. But, they’re not a dealbreaker either.” 

Sansa mouthed, “ _ Dealbreaker? _ ” 

“And you’re supposed to be a lady’s man?” Petyr smacked him with his gun again.

“What I mean is, stretchmarks wouldn’t stop me from wanting to fuck a woman.” Lancel talked fast. “You’re hot and stretchmarks don’t change that. Baelish is a lucky man.” 

Petyr watched the secret smile in Sansa’s eyes spread across her lips as she decided to take a more active role in the torment. “Did you just say I’m hot and you want to fuck me?” 

“No.” His reply was quick as he looked at Petyr. 

“Don’t lie, Lancel.” Petyr reminded him, chuckling as he did. 

Lancel glanced between the two of them again, trying to pick his words. “Okay yes, I did. No disrespect to Baelish, it’s just, you’ve got great tits and ass.” 

Sansa smiled wider as she asked, “Did you ever fantasize about us?” 

Petyr felt his brow furrowing, and his amusement fading. What was she playing at? He gestured to Lancel to answer her, wanting to see where this was going. Lancel nodded nervously. 

“Tell me one of them.” Sansa started to walk across the kitchen. 

Lancel shook his head. “No.” Petyr pressed his gun into his side and Lancel turned to him quickly. The panic in his voice turned palpable. “It was just a fucking fantasy! It doesn’t mean anything!” 

“Tell her.” Petyr instructed as he watched her come to a stop in front of Lancel. 

Lancel shut his eyes, tears emerging. “It was a blow job, okay? Just a fucking blow job!” 

“ _ Excellent _ .” She beamed. 

Petyr didn’t have a chance to ask why that was such a good thing, before she plopped down in Lancel’s lap, wrapping an arm around his neck. Every protective, jealous bone in his body sounded as Petyr leapt up with a growl. “ _ What the hell _ ?”

“Come here.” She crooked her finger, waving for him to come around to the front of her, cozied up in Lancel’s lap. 

His whole body tightened, drawing forth all his strength in outrage as he walked around Lancel and towered above Sansa, who only gestured him closer. It wasn’t until his knees bumped into hers, laying over the side of Lancel’s lap, that she reached forward to grip his belt buckle. “What are you doing?” 

She grinned up at him as she unzipped his fly, “Giving you a present too. I’m going to show Lancel whose cock I suck.” The tingle of arousal he felt could have easily been more so from her reprobate words than the feel of her fingers coaxing him from his pants. Lancel shut his eyes, and leaned as far back as he could to avoid staring at Petyr’s growing erection, inches from his face. A sudden ache developed that felt as urgent as if it had been there all along. This was more than naughty, this was  _ wicked _ , and entirely his exhibitionistic Sansa. Petyr felt the blood rush to compelling throb as she nuzzled her face into his pelvis, letting his shaft jut out over her closed eyes. The vibration against his balls as she spoke into them, felt too good to cope with, and he brought his hand to her hair, just to get some grip on reason. He barely understood her to say, “He gets a front row seat.” 

His hand pet her head, praising the vulgarity that nourished his growing lust. When her mouth closed over his sensitive sack, lightly sucking and licking, he was unable to stop himself digging his fingers into her scalp. He massaged his digits in little circles, each muscle tightened to give the illusion of control. In reality, he commanded nothing about this. Sansa ran this show, and present circumstances wouldn’t allow him to touch and rub every inch of her as he’d prefer. When she took him from her mouth, letting the cold air cut through the warm and wet, he snapped to attention, searching her face for the cause. 

She pouted with a big bottom lip and wide eyes, “He isn’t watching.” 

Petyr gripped Lancel’s hair and yanked his head forward. “ _ Look _ !” 

Lancel squinted his eyes open as he plead to be freed. Sansa giggled before wrapping her lips around Petyr’s tip. He groaned as she took more of him in, his fingers tightening in both her’s and Lancel’s hair. Where his grip kept Lancel in place, his other encouraged Sansa’s movement. He’d learned early in their relationship, never to apply pressure, never to push or nudge her as she worked him, simply to hold and massage. Those were her rules, and abiding by them, gave him countless orgasms. 

One hand rubbed his balls while the other massaged the underside of his base, her rhythm steady, and her tongue twirling. He loved to look at her in these selfless moments, so happy to give him pleasure and take none herself. Every moment of every day, he was devoted to her. It was only when she lowered herself to look up at him, that he felt she may, to some degree, worship him too. He would gaze down at her, appreciating the sight of her eyes closed, mouth full. Her long lashes so elegant against her soft ivory skin, only the red of the hair that framed that perfect face, and the swollen lips that devoured him, contrasted. 

He knew the only improvement upon such a sight, was when she opened her eyes and stared back at him, fully accepting and approving of the pleasure he received. As Petyr watched, waiting for her eyes to lock on his, a thought crept in. He was trying to prove to Sansa that she had nothing to feel insecure about, and here she was, loving his body, not the other way around. He glanced over at Lancel, a sobbing, sweating, blubbering mess, eyes pried open enough to watch Petyr ‘Littlefinger’ Baelish rock his hips into his wife’s mouth. A shiver ran through him, as he acknowledged just how sinful this was. As if able to read his mind, Sansa’s vigor increased. 

Petyr shook his head, no. His fingers tightened into Lancel, swaying his head with his motions. His other hand flattened in Sansa’s hair, more careful with her. He hissed her name, trying to stop her. This was not right, which made it perfect. The point, however, was that he wanted to worship her, show her how cherished she was, stretchmarks and all. “Nnn-no.” He shook his head, trying to find the strength to pull away. He was so close, each sensation building upon itself, growing larger and larger, until it couldn’t be contained anymore. 

“What?” Sansa lifted her head to ask, at the same time the floodgates broke, and cum spilled all down the front of her in cloudy white streams. She glanced down and then back up, a small smile tugged at the side of her mouth.

He would have felt bad about it, if she didn’t look so sexy all messed up like that. The bulge of her belly beneath her breasts ever-present reminded him that he was being obscene. She turned to smile at Lancel as she said, “Did you picture white-washing my tits like this?” 

Before either man could utter a sound, she was up and walking towards the counter, to grab the damp cloth she’d used on his hand earlier. “I’d say I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that was rather the point.” 

Petyr let go of Lancel, and tucked himself back in his pants, not bothering to fasten them as he went to her, “Forget him.” He enjoyed the way she played, but they still had unresolved business that she’d been quite effective at evading. He took the cloth from her. 

She smiled warmly at him as he carefully cleaned her, wiping gently against her skin, more ardently against her shirt. She sighed into him when he leaned forward to kiss her still swollen lips, and reached for his empty hand, holding it. When their kiss broke, he reiterated, “I can’t do distance, Sansa.” 

She rubbed the side of his cheek with hers, and asserted, “And I need space to breathe, Petyr.”

He closed his eyes and sighed when her other hand came up and thumbed his goatee. “Then it seems we must always communicate with each other to strike our perfect balance.” 

Her thumb moved to find his bottom lip, and ran over it, agreeing, “It seems we must.” She gave him a peck on the cheek before pulling away, yawning as she said, “Shoot him so we can go to bed.” She waved a hand at Lancel, as if she were pointing at a pile of laundry to be folded, so little was her investment in his life. Petyr could barely hear her proclaim herself exhausted over Lancel’s screams.

She was already out of the kitchen, on her way to their bedroom, when Petyr remembered his other surprise for her. Feeling the rush to catch her, and the vigilance to never leave an enemy unattended in a room, he clenched his jaw in frustration as he strode over to the kitchen table. Without hesitation, he picked up the gun he’d set down during Sansa’s affection, and shot Lancel in the forehead. He didn’t have time to savor it, only looking long enough to watch the head droop, jaw slacked. It wasn’t as drawn out and gratifying as he’d prefer, but the nonchalant way Sansa ordered his death and requested Petyr’s presence in bed, all in the same breath, was victory enough. 

He all but ran to catch up to her as she walked down the hall. She looked back over her shoulder, laughing, “That was quick. Someone wants to snuggle.”

“I want to show you something.” Petyr calmed himself, now that she was within reach. He set his hand on the small of her back and guided her further down the hall, stopping just before their bedroom. “The nursery.” 

She groaned, “Petyr, I can’t even look at it. All the blank white walls judge me every time I go in.” He was glad for it. Her refusing to enter, allowed him to have work done without her knowing.

He opened the door before she could turn away, and listened to her gasp. “I know traditionally speaking, girls are showered in pink, but this felt right.” Petyr gestured to the periwinkle blue walls that reminded him of her infamous satin robe, and the undertones of the mockingbird he had come to view as a symbol of their love. 

She had stopped moving and Petyr moved past her, tugging at her to get her to step further inside. Her eyes locked onto the lettering above the mahogany crib, that read:  _ Elenei. _ Sansa’s hand covered her mouth as she stared at the name. Petyr instantly second guessed his choice, quickly saying, “I thought, because of your mother, and your sister…” He looked down. “It’s just an idea, we don’t have to use it.” 

“It’s perfect.” She whispered, her eyes wide, exploring the transformed room around them. Petyr was impressed with the finished product. He had sent Varys his vision, and the man had definitely put his talents to use. The padded rocking chair in the corner was a good idea, and Petyr could picture Sansa falling asleep in it as she rocked their daughter. Sansa reached down into the crib, feeling the quilt that had been commissioned. Myrcella’s Lion King blanket remained in the closet to be brought out only when in the company of Lannisters. 

Sansa looked over her shoulder at Petyr. “Mockingbirds?” 

He nodded, coming up behind her to wrap his arms around her. 

“You picked a theme that would match one of your clubs?” She sounded somewhat amused. 

He kissed her shoulder blade, and rubbed her belly. “I picked a theme to match us. And then I named a club after us. The Mockingbird is a tribute, Sansa.” 

She stood up straight, running her hands over the wooden rail. “Is that right?” 

“It is.” Petyr smiled when he felt their daughter push against his palm. “We both had to lie and cheat to get to where we were when we met. I sounded the lover to Lysa, and you the same to the Hound. We do what we must to survive. And it is that will to live, that strength, that connects us on such a deep level.” 

She stood holding her tongue, digesting his words. They had been together years, and she had not known the meaning behind his symbol for them, the depth of emotion involved in a neon sign above a door, or pattern sewn into a quilt. He wanted her to like it, or at least confirm that she approved. Somehow, though, he knew she wanted the quiet to process. 

It was subtle at first. A small sway to her hips, a gentle press against his groin, were all as if on accident. When she leaned into him further, working her bottom back, she finally spoke. “Am I a terrible person for getting turned on right now?” 

Petyr chuckled, “Not in the slightest.” 

“Of course you would say that.” She reached behind herself to feel for him. “Can you help me? Or is it still too soon yet?” 

“Oh, I can help you.” Petyr grinned, growing against his zipper in a second wind of vigor. “On two conditions.” 

“And those would be?”

“One: do you like it?” Petyr took a hand off her belly and gestured around the room. 

Sansa laughed, “I know it’s strange to get horny in a nursery, but do you think I’d get this way if I didn’t like it?” 

Petyr nipped at her shoulder. “Tell me,  _ please _ .” 

Sansa sighed and lifted a hand to capture his, bringing it back to her belly. “ _ Elenei _ will feel at home here, and I--” Her warm eyes locked on his, and she spoke with conviction. “I _ adore _ it.” 

His stomach jumped, hearing the name he’d picked for his daughter said aloud. There was no denying the reality of the baby, but somehow giving her a name, made her more of a person. Sansa wiggled against him. “What’s your second condition?” 

Petyr reached for her shirt. “No clothes. No hiding. I want you completely naked, so I can see and kiss every inch of you.” 

“Petyr, no. I--” Her protest quieted when his hand slid under her belly, picking up where it left off before.

Touching her when she was already aroused, just made it all the quicker and easier to make her desperate for it, for _ him _ . Petyr listened to her mewl and pant, and watched the perspiration grow on her neck, as she chased after a release he wasn’t yet willing to give.  

He picked at her shirt, silently reminding her that it was still on her body before he teased in her ear, “I guess you’re not as horny as you thought?” His fingers slowly retreated from their work, his smile smug. “I’ll go ahead and stop, then, shall I?” 

“Damn it!” She growled as she yanked her shirt over her head, and shimmied her shorts down, exposing herself completely. “There! Are you  _ happy? _ ” 

Petyr slowly sank down to his knees, thankful for the soft area rug that Varys added. He placed a kiss on a particularly angry-looking stretchmark, “Down--” he kissed the one beside it, “--right--" he kissed another, “--giddy.” Petyr smiled to himself, pleased to be giving her some less-than-maternal memories in the room meant to house their daughter in just six days.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank DethroneJane profusely for beta-ing this chapter for me. It was really awesome working with her on this :-)
> 
> Also want to thank expected_aberrance and greedisgreen for helping me punctuate some particularly difficult (for me anyway) sections before I was blessed to have DethroneJane's eye too! (hey expected, did you notice I went with the dashes version? Dashes AND DOTS was just too much for me, hehe )


	39. Ever-Loving-Fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cervixes are sexy

There was a strange sensation, a pulling, no-- _ a tugging _ at her tender flesh. She wondered, in her starry-eyed state, if perhaps while tossing and turning, her breast had come loose from her bra. Had she worn one to bed? She tried to ignore the irritation for the sake of sleep. It was only when she noticed a warm-wetness accompany the tugging and  _ tweaking _ , that Sansa forced herself to full consciousness.

Her head felt unnaturally heavy as she dragged it from the pillow, only to stare down at a full mat of dark hair, streaked with silver strands. “Petyr.” 

He shifted, tilting to show more of his face. Mossy green irises looked back at her over the enlarged breast that filled his mouth. His hand slid up, rubbing and squeezing, as he broke his lips’ tight suction. His chin hovered above her nipple, running the prickly hairs of his goatee over it. What a way to wake up. He purred, “ _ Yes? _ ” 

“What are you doing?” She asked. 

His tongue came out, flicking her a couple of times before he answered, “Nipple stimulation is known to induce labor.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Petyr, you’re being ridiculous.” 

“And you’re miserable.” Petyr leaned over her, teasing her other breast. “You were begging to be induced last night.” 

He wasn’t wrong. Sansa kept feeling the contractions getting stronger and closer together, but never strong enough, and they always dissipated. It wasn’t fair, her due date had come and gone. She didn’t think it would be possible for her to grow any larger than she was, too sore and tired to do much of anything. Petyr swirled his tongue around her nipple and grinned, “I’ll gladly lick and suck your tits for as long as it takes.” 

A fire ignited between her legs. Just a moment before, sex seemed ridiculous. Petyr’s naughty words, devoted to his cause, turned her onto her baser instincts. She smirked as she teased, “Perhaps it’s not my tits that need a good licking.”

He rubbed his facial hair against her other nipple as he asked, “Oh? Then what needs my tongue the most?” 

She grinned, knowing just what he wanted to hear. “My clit.”

Petyr’s smile turned lust-laden, as a slight groan caught in the back of his throat. He wasted no time, reaching up and grabbing some pillows, setting them around her. She furrowed her brow at him and asked, “What are you doing?” 

“Orgasms help induce labor too. Well--the oxytocin does, anyway. Regardless, I’m going to eat your pussy until you come loudly all over my face. And shortly thereafter, we’re going to welcome our daughter into the world.” Petyr waggled his eyebrows at her as he lifted her leg and nudged her to turn. 

She sighed, feeling the cushioned surface against her. “I meant with the pillows.” 

Petyr slid a hand up her thigh and to her belly. “To make you more comfortable. I know how your hips get sore lately.” 

“Yeah, I’ve started sleeping with a pillow between my knees to help lessen the strain.” Sansa reasoned, losing her flirtatiousness as she considered her body’s discomfort. 

Petyr lowered himself, moving closer to her sex, unwilling to relinquish the sensuality he’d been trying to foster in her. “I’ll stay between your knees to _ lessen the strain _ .” His lips grazed against her, tickling before he added with a cheeky grin, “But, I promise you, you won’t be sleeping.”

She bit her lip when his tongue suddenly dove between her folds, now so plump and sensitive, killing any witty quip she might have had. He ran the length of her a few times before going for her opening, pressing against it, dipping into it. Embarrassed, she shook her head, “No. Don’t.” 

Despite her protest, Petyr refused to move, tonguing her, as his fingers searched for the special spot that turned all noes to yesses. 

She brought both hands down, and grabbed his hair, dragging his face back up. “Not  _ there. _ ”

When she was satisfied he would stay put, she let go of him. He turned his head to gently nibble one lip, not yet returning to the spot that ached for him. His breath was hot against her thigh as he asked, “Why not?” 

She sighed and covered her eyes with the back of her arm. “Because it’s getting  _ weird  _ down there, okay?” 

She felt him feel the bed under her ass. “What do you mean,  _ weird _ ? You lost your plug a week ago, so it can’t be that.” 

Sansa groaned, “Can we please not say things like, ‘ _ plug _ ’ in bed?” The last thing Sansa wanted to think about was the gooey glob she’d found in her underwear a week prior. It was the opposite of sexy, and more than that, it was a disappointment. She thought losing it meant Elenei was coming. Dr. Luwin, however, explained that women can lose it in their third trimester, and even grow another one. It did not mean delivery was imminent, much to her dismay. 

Petyr looked up chuckling, “I can’t  _ say _ it, but Cersei can  _ buy _ you one?” 

“Don’t be cute.”

“Can’t help it,” he teased. His hand ran over the thin thatch of hair that had grown over her seam, petting it. He didn’t seem fazed by the sticky mix of her arousal and his saliva that coated it as he asked, “Tell me what’s weird?” 

“There’s just a lot going on down there, Petyr.” She cringed when the words  _ dilating _ and  _ effacing _ came to mind. 

He bowed his head and coyly kissed where he’d just been stroking. “ _ Going down on _ , you say?” His eyes lit with mischief.  

“No, that is not what I said!” She gasped and gripped the bed when his goatee parted her folds and his tongue laved the ache therein. 

“ _ Oh my god! _ ” She panted, her hips lifted as far off the pillows and into his mouth as she could manage. The vibration of his moan into her, only added to her climb. 

Orgasms took on many different shapes and sizes, and this one, thankfully, was not earth-shattering. It was instead, a  _ relief _ . She could breathe, and smile, and run her fingers over the hair she’d almost ripped out moments before, all through the warmth that washed over her.

Petyr rose from between her legs and moved the pillows away, taking their place, stretching out behind her. One hand held her solid belly, while the other brushed her sweaty hair from her neck. Sansa was still trying to catch her breath when Petyr caught her earlobe between his teeth. “You’re always so religious when we’re  _ together. _ ” 

She swatted back behind herself, chuckling at him. “Get all your jokes in now, as soon as this baby comes: no sex.” 

Petyr rubbed himself against her, and kissed her neck. “I’m sure we’ll find ways to help each other out. We always do.” 

She turned her head to raise her eyebrow at him. “I suppose you’d like some help now?”

“On the contrary, I’m still trying to help  _ you _ .” Petyr kissed her neck again. “Nipple play and orgasms aren’t the only things that help to induce labor.” 

“Really? What did you have in mind?” Sansa reached back, fondling his erection as she asked. 

His breathing hitched. “ _ Cum _ .” 

“Already did-- _ thank you _ .” She grinned, her voice low and sultry as she rubbed him more fervently. 

“No,  _ cum.”  _

She stilled and gazed back at him, not fully understanding if he meant the verb or the noun.

Petyr drove himself in her hand, refocusing her attention. “ _ Semen.” _

Sansa said nothing, taken aback by the word, so direct and clearly spoken. It ripped her mind out of the bedroom and put her back in her eighth grade biology class, so proper was the term. It was a wonder he hadn’t gone so far as to say,  _ ejaculate.  _ That would have only brought her to her tenth grade health class, the one that had the pregnant girl enrolled in it. 

She told herself to forget her private school education and all of its awkward failings, and tried to process what Petyr was trying to tell her. Orgasms were one thing, cum itself, was another. She hadn’t thought about the realities of sex, the part that required clean up. What if she went into labor after he came in her? Would the doctor notice? Sansa didn’t care who knew her sex life was active, but the possibility of Dr. Luwin--the man who’d delivered her, having to wipe cum away to deliver Elenei, horrified her. Her voice was unexpectedly firm as she answered, “ _ No _ .”

“It tells the cervix to dilate and efface.” Petyr reasoned. He kissed her shoulder as his pelvis continued its persistent grind in her grip. 

Sansa grimaced, not wanting to hear any of those words. She was a hot, sweaty, mess. At four days overdue, she was simply too tired and achy to feel sexy in the first place, let alone after hearing about her body’s internal processes in clinical terms. 

He reached down and gripped her thigh, tugging at it. She lifted her head off the pillow quickly. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m going to come all over your cervix.” He nuzzled his face into her hair. 

If she could have stopped herself, she would have. Sadly, she could not, and laughed, outright. Feeling him still behind her, she shook her head. “Can you not say that? I’m sorry. It’s just,  _ cervix _ is the opposite of sexy.” 

To her relief, Petyr started to chuckle too. “I guess you’re right,” he brushed the hair off her neck as he spoke. “I didn’t realize. To me, anything I come on is sexy.”

She smiled at the truth in his statement and gave him a playful squeeze. The rock-hard shaft heating her hand beseeched her to be more selfless. She took a deep breath, and regrouped. “Want to come on my face, then?”

His fingers dug into her thigh, and his voice grew hoarse at the idea. “You hardly ever offer that.”

It was true. She offered that sparingly, only because of the mess it made in her hair when he missed a little, and the one time it went in her eye. He kissed her a thousand times and apologized, but his remorse didn’t take away the sting. Forgetting the potential for embarrassment if Luwin recognized cum, deep inside where washcloths and shower nozzles couldn’t reach, there was the fact that she simply didn’t feel up to sex. “I am now.” 

“Don’t you want to feel me?” His voice sounded a little disconcerted. He pushed her hand away from him and leaned back, his chest no longer pressed against her. His voice was thicker as he said, “I know I want to feel you.” 

“Petyr--” She sighed, trying to find the words to say. She’d just turned twenty-four, still quite young and spry. Yet, here she was: naked, in bed with a man, and quite simply not feeling up to the rigors that sex entailed. Finally, her own exhaustion and frustration won out. “I can’t.” 

“Can’t?” He leaned over her, examining her face curiously.

She avoided his gaze and glanced down at her belly lying on the mattress. She took a deep breath before trying to sound more positive. “I still want to help you.” She reached back behind her, searching for him again and elaborated, “I’m not just going to leave you twisting in the wind, if that’s what you think.” 

“ _ Can’t _ implies incapable. How are you incapable? What’s wrong?” He asked, ignoring her continued attempt to promote other forms of gratification. 

There was no point in hiding it. They’d agreed to communicate more, regardless of how embarrassed she felt. She looked over her shoulder at him and said, “I’m just too uncomfortable.” 

“You’re uncomfortable with _ me _ ?” Petyr’s eyebrows furrowed.

Sansa found his hand quickly, and brought it to her cheek. “No. In general.  _ Physically _ .” 

“Oh, your hips. Here, let me.” The concern faded from his face. Petyr gripped her thigh and lifted it, quick to angle himself between her legs. “Rest your leg over mine, it will take the pressure off your joints.” 

Sansa eyed him over her shoulder as he trailed kisses down her spine, his erection rubbing against her dampened flesh. She thought of protesting, but he was right. Her leg draped back over his, did a lot to reduce the soreness in her joints. He rest his forehead against her shoulder blade as he took himself in hand, brushing against her to find her entrance. “How’s this? Are you okay?” 

With her hips supported, and his cock so insistent, she started to feel more in the mood. She nodded her head, and gave him an encouraging groan, “ _ Yeah. _ ” 

Petyr didn’t mistake her tone of voice, adjusting his to match hers, “ _ Yeah?  _ Do you want me now?” 

She brought her hand down, around her belly, to the cleft between her legs, and her voice turned to velvet for him. “ _ Yes, Petyr _ .” 

He dipped his tip in her, stopping there, only his head immersed. Sansa wiggled, growing needy to take more of him inside. “How much do you want?” He whispered against her back.

“ _ All of it _ ,” she breathed. 

He sank further inside, promising lewdly to,  _ give it _ to her.  

Her voice broke as her fingers chased a tingle, her insides flexing around his cock. He bucked into her once, losing his control as he exclaimed,  _ “Yes _ !”

She felt a sharp pain in her belly and she tensed, her flesh suddenly burning. “ _ Slower _ , Petyr. It’s all so sensitive. I need you to go slow.”

He brought his nose to the back of her head, nuzzling apologies. His free hand came up to her breast, gently plucking her nipple as he moved within her. His teeth grazed over her neck, sending a chill down her spine and a warm ache low in her belly. 

She shut her eyes, closed tight against the throb he nurtured in her, her fingers only helping him in his cause. Sansa pulled his hand from her breast, to bring his index finger to her mouth. She wrapped her lips around it, sucking, mimicking how she would his cock. When she heard his moan, she knew the effect was not lost on him. She panted, “Go around my tits, don’t pinch. It’s too much.”

Petyr nodded against her, his wet finger trailing saliva in circles around her nipple as he said, “Whatever you need, just tell me.”

Somehow, they had each found their own rhythm with her body, that worked symbiotically. His slow persistent massage against her, fully engorged and throbbing insides, only heightened the sensation each time the pads of her fingers slid past her nub. Her pursuit of climax, tightened and flexed all of her intimate places, spurring him on. They worked independently toward mutual benefit. Sansa wondered if this was what it would always be like, now that they were communicating. 

When she felt herself get close, she slowed her fingers and waited for him. She didn’t know when this baby was coming, and if this was the last time they had sex for a while, she wanted to ride their peak together. The connectedness she felt with him in that moment was overwhelmingly beautiful and maybe it was the hormones that raged through her body, but she couldn’t help the tear that gathered in her eye because of it. Sansa turned her head into her pillow, not wanting Petyr to think anything was wrong, when it truly couldn’t have been more right.

Petyr held her thigh firmly in place over his hip, his fingers tightening as his breath caught. Sansa knew he was getting close and set to work, trying to catch back up to him. His forehead bore into her back as his hips moved at a slow pace she knew was difficult to keep. He did, though,  _ for her _ . 

Petyr had gone silent, arms flexed, fingers anchored. There was only the maddeningly slow slide she felt against her insides, telling her that he was still very much alive behind her. She would give anything for a good hard fuck right then, her fingers desperately pleading her body to fall off the plateau it had been coasting on. She cursed the tenderness of her flesh, wishing she didn’t need him to be so careful in his thrusts.

And then suddenly, she tripped. It was as if she wasn’t looking where she was going, and missed a step. Every nerve ending fired to tell her body,  _ catch yourself, don’t fall, you’ll die!  _ An inebriating effect took hold of her as she did just that, fell-- _ died. _ So deep in serenity, she was barely cognizant of when her hips took control, reflexively riding each pulse of pleasure they shared together. 

When the spasms got fewer and farther between, until she was left waiting for one that wouldn’t come, Petyr gently pulled from her and rolled to his back. Sansa turned to face him, only then noticing for the first time, that he too was drenched in sweat and gasping for air. She smiled proudly down to him, and kissed the nipple nearest her mouth. “We came together.”

His hand smoothed over her hard belly, and his cheeks pulled to either side in a wide grin. “Tell me again that cervixes aren’t sexy.” 

“Oh!” Sansa laughed and swatted at him. He willingly took the hit, smiling at the loud slap against his sweaty chest. 

Petyr leaned over and kissed her forehead before standing up. She tried to rise to meet him, her legs feeling like jello. “Where are you going?” 

“ _ We _ are getting in the shower,” Petyr replied as he strode to the attached bathroom. “We have a big day ahead of us.” 

“We do?” Sansa managed to pull herself up off the bed, waddling after him. 

He was turning on the water as he said, “Yes. You need to give birth to our child, and I need to go manage all the fallout after Margaery dies a horribly painful death-- _ today _ .” 

She followed him in, her eyebrows raising, “Today?” She forgot the first part of what he said, focusing only on Margaery’s death. “Really?” She leaned her head back into the water when he gestured for her to, and let him squeeze shampoo in her hair. “Today?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking incredulously, working the lather in after he left the glop on her head for her to manage. “You’re sure?”

Petyr had already lathered his hair, and was working the foamy soap suds all over his body, when he leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose. “Extremely.”

Sansa wracked her brain to think of what she must have missed. As of the day before, there hadn’t been much movement. Lancel had been ‘missing’ for nine days, and the Lannister camp had been doing a good job of appearing outraged for Kevan. Cersei was carefully toeing the line between openly sharing and encouraging a hatred of Margaery, that had only one obvious end game, while also keeping whatever she was plotting to herself. 

It was when she realized that Petyr had come home very late the night before, long after she’d gone to bed, that she found the right track. “What did you do?” 

“ _ Kevan _ , shot up Cider Hall,” Petyr corrected, and then reached over to rinse out her hair, seeing that she wasn’t moving. 

“That’s not open yet.” Cider Hall was Renly’s vision, a gastropub that was going to introduce the city to a finer palate. Loras, for as damaged as he’d been over his lover’s death, and willing to sell practically everything to move on, had still hung onto Cider Hall. Even he had limits, lines he wouldn’t cross. The entire time he cozied up to Olyvar, begging to forget Renly, he kept the work going on his dead husband’s passion, however lackadaisical. 

“No, Jaime let him blow off some steam on windows and woodwork, not to mention provisions.” When Petyr stepped out of the shower to retrieve some towels, a dull ache gripped her belly. Sansa took a deep breath, flattening her palm on the cool tile wall for comfort. Another deep breath and it was gone. Sansa sighed, frustrated. That was how it always seemed to happen. The promise of contractions, and then the disappointment of nothing more.

She smiled when he came back around the corner with a towel wrapped around his waist, and handed her hers. She decided that there was no point getting him riled up over more of nothing, so she kept her contraction to herself. “Provisions?” 

Petyr stood at the sink, grooming in the mirror while she dried off. “Loras had it stocked. He was planning to open Friday night.” 

Sansa bristled, “ _ Friday night. _ We weren’t invited?”

He lifted the razor from his cheek, and flashed his dimples at her. “Of course we were. Loras loves you, and Margaery knows better.” 

“Then why was I not made aware?” Sansa asked, feeling more and more offended. 

Petyr shook the razor in the sink full of water. “Because our invitation came at The Mockingbird, and I had Varys respond that we wouldn’t be able to make it.” 

Her eyebrows shot up, “It’s bad business to turn down an invitation, Petyr.” 

He turned quickly, kissing her cheek, leaving some shaving cream on her face for her to wipe off. “Your dedication to work, is such a turn on.” He let his hand slide down and give her ass a quick squeeze before explaining, “When I declined the invitation, it was assumed that you would have delivered Elenei four days ago, and you would still be recovering.” 

She cursed her swollen body for being too big for a towel to wrap around without a triangle of belly poking out, completely negating the point of wearing the towel in the first place. She threw it on the floor in frustration, her face heating at the tightening she felt deep in her belly. “Well, let this be a lesson in assumption.” 

Petyr chuckled, “Are you really upset about this?” 

Sansa sighed, “No, I guess not.” She held her arms up, “I just don’t like being so out of commission.” 

Petyr wiped the remaining cream off his face and turned, pulling her to him, grabbing up as much of her curves as he could reach. “I’ll  _ commission _ you as often as you’ll let me.” 

She smiled through the cramps that felt too much like her monthly period. “My towel doesn’t fit me.” 

“Which works to my benefit,” he was quick to add, giving her breasts a healthy grope, thumbs grazing her nipples. 

She sighed into the touch. “Take my mind off my obesity.” She smiled at his eyeroll and added, “Tell me about Margaery’s death.” 

He laughed and gave her a quick peck on the cheek again before pulling away. “You’re so bloodthirsty.” He called over his shoulder as he walked through the door to their bedroom, “I thought you didn’t care when she died anymore. Memory of a delightful blowjob told me so.”

Sansa smiled at the memory of sitting in Lancel’s lap, proving to her jealous husband once and for all, just how little Lancel ever meant to her. She brought her hand under her belly, pressing a little against a more difficult cramp. “I don’t. But, don’t tease me with the promise of it, and then not elaborate.” 

He eyed her with a smug smile as he ripped the towel away, exposing himself. “After last night’s little display with Kevan, I decided Jaime needed a little more motivation.” 

Sansa glanced down at the cock she’d become well acquainted with over the years and smiled back at him. “Jaime allowed Kevan to make a move. It sounds as if he is motivated.” She passed by Petyr, bending to reach in his dresser drawers. If he was going to flirt, she could play that way too. 

In the midst of teasing him, her belly tightened again, hard as a rock, this time reaching around to her back. She had found the pants she’d been looking for, but kept rooting around in the drawer, determined to carry on as if nothing was happening. It was uncomfortable and it would pass, like all the other times, no need to trouble Petyr with it. Sansa felt the loud crack against her ass tingle and sting as the smile in his voice confessed, “It’s reflexive. I see that ass bent over and I just suddenly need to either fuck or spank.” 

On any normal occasion she would smile and offer both, however, this time, she felt ready to tear his head off. Didn’t he know what she was dealing with? The pressure, discomfort, exhaustion? No. Of course he didn’t. Because she refused to be dramatic. She stood still, not turning around, controlling her temper. She didn’t move when she heard him approach, setting his hand gently on her back. “Are you alright?” 

She took another breath and looked up at him, forcing a smile. “Yes. I’m fine.” She decided not to lie, “Just another braxton-hicks.” 

“I’m not certain that it was.” He eyed her. 

She handed him the pants, her face relaxing along with all of her abdominal muscles. “I haven’t felt anything that I haven’t already felt before. I’ve had ‘false labor’ enough to know that this is not the real thing.” 

He continued to consider her as he slid his pants on. She acted like she didn’t notice, turning again to pick out a shirt for him. She knew the best way to calm Petyr was to take care of him. People who didn’t understand their relationship, assumed a young girl like her had daddy issues. What they didn’t consider just how much a mature man like Petyr would cherish a little mothering from time to time. He proudly wore whatever clothes she set out for him, when the mood struck her. 

When he was pulling the shirt over his head, she asked, “So, letting Kevan wreck Cider Hall wasn’t motivation on Jaime’s part?” 

She walked into his closet, picking out a pair of shoes for him, while she listened for his reply. 

“Letting Kevan throw a tantrum where there would be little actual damage, is hardly the level of motivation we would like.” He accepted the shoes from her, and the pair of socks she’d retrieved for him. “But it does let the Tyrells know that someone is gunning for them.” 

Sansa grabbed a maxi dress out of her closet and pulled it over her head, letting it fall down over her belly. “Which could have easily been us,” she realized as she threw her wet hair up in a clip and grabbed Petyr’s brush off his dresser. 

“Correct.” Petyr sat on the bed at her motioning, spreading his legs for her stand between them. 

She reached over, running the brush through his short hair, smoothing any ruffled tufts before it dried that way. Her lower back started to ache from the angle and she felt her face getting hot again. She ignored it, focusing on Petyr smiling up at her. He hugged her belly to him, relishing the affection she was showering him with. A warmth between her legs remind her how sublime it was to share such intimacy with him. Her hand touch his face, smoothing over the freshly shaved cheek. She whispered, “I was going to do this for you.” 

“There was no time.” He smiled in her hand. 

She took a step back and set the brush down, as he stood up. “That’s right. You’ve been in quite a hurry to leave. Let me get my shoes on.” 

“No need. You’re staying here.” He turned away quickly reaching for his wallet, phone, and keys. 

“The hell I am.” Sansa laughed through the pressure. 

He shook his head and smiled as he left their bedroom. “If you had to pick the most dangerous person in the city, who would it be?” 

She followed him, replying automatically, “ _ You. _ ” 

Petyr whipped around, instantly on her, grabbing her wrists. He pinned them to the wall behind her, as his lips pried hers open. Petyr’s head twisted, taking more of her in his mouth, his tongue unrelenting. A familiar wetness pooled between her legs and she arched wantonly forward, restrained by his hold on her. She sucked air in through her nose, feeling his breath hot on her cheek, refusing to release her lips. The pressure she’d felt before built in her lower back, and her hips started to ache. She barely noticed, feeling all her tender places melting under his force. Too engrossed in their kiss, Sansa forgot for a moment how pregnant and cumbersome she was, massaging his tongue with hers before she nipped him with her teeth. 

Meeting her aggression, he scraped her lip with his own teeth, growling as he did. She mewled, submitting to pleasure, to  _ him _ . Victorious, he tore his face from hers, and slowly opened his eyes, emeralds molten in the heat of the moment. Still in his grip, her chest heaved, panting as she stared back, waiting to see his next move. Petyr closed his eyes again, and took a breath, regaining his composure. His voice carried hints of his previous ferocity, “I wasn’t referring to myself. But, so long as we’re on the subject--” He flashed her a sinful smile, “Don’t you forget it.” 

She bit her lip, controlling the hunger that his dominance provoked. He was so devoted to her on a daily basis, that the rare occasion when he openly displayed his power, was a sight to behold. The fire inside her reluctantly abated when he turned to walk away again. She used their moment against him, “So then, surely, you can keep me safe.” 

“ _ Sansa. _ ” 

“Petyr.”

He walked toward the garage. “Cersei is taking action today, and downtown simply isn’t safe today.” 

“The whole of downtown?” Sansa asked skeptically. 

Petyr opened the garage door and beeped the Aston Martin unlocked. “Pinpointing the exact location is difficult. Her method isn’t exactly the most precise.”

Sansa raised her brow questioningly. She found herself uncomfortable with Petyr knowing more about Cersei than she did, possibly even a little jealous over that fact. Cersei was  _ her  _ friend. Well, sort of, anyway. “How do you know?” 

Petyr lifted his phone. “Varys. Olyvar messaged him in the middle of the night. After things settled with Kevan.” 

“She called Olyvar? Shared her whole plan?” Sansa felt the excitement bubbling inside her, laboring her breath. Or perhaps that was another contraction. 

“Olyvar has instructions. Kevan is assisting him. And I’m not telling you anything else. I want  you to be surprised.” Petyr kissed her forehead and walked to the car. 

“Just tell me, what finally pushed her over the edge?” Sansa stopped him. 

Petyr grinned the special grin he only gave when he was feeling brilliant. “Check your phone.” 

“ _ My _ phone?” Sansa didn’t remember seeing any notifications on the lock screen. “I didn’t bring--”

He held it out to her. She blinked, trying to remember when she would have seen him pick it up. She hadn’t, but wasn’t that just so Petyr? She quickly punched in her code and looked at her screen. “I don’t see anything.” 

“Check your message history, with Cersei.” Petyr bit the inside of his cheek, just as anxious for her to see as she was. 

Sansa opened up the message history and read,  _ Yes, I am. Thanks for looking out.  _

Her stomach tightened again, and her hips ached as she read the message above it,  _ Beautiful. _ That one came from her phone, but she didn’t remember sending it. She furrowed her brow in curiosity, scrolling higher and higher in the message history until she came to a picture of Margaery. 

She glanced up at Petyr, who gestured for her to read through, a proud grin threatening to break his face with its severity.  She looked back down at the picture of Margaery. It was outside, in front of a building. Dr. Luwin’s Obstetrics sign hung in the background, and the familiar shape of a pregnant woman logo showed next to it. What the hell was Margaery doing at Dr. Luwins?

Sansa read her own text,  _ Guess who I saw at Luwin’s today. _

She hadn’t written that or seen Margaery there at all. Petyr interjected, “Did you know Shae edits photos?” 

“No.” Sansa looked it over again before reading Cersei’s reply,  _ that rotten cunt-rag. _ “It’s good quality.” 

“I told you she was skilled,” Petyr gloated. 

Sansa read her supposed reply,  _ Agreed--Granny. _ There was a small kissy-face emoji beside it. 

Cersei’s response was typical,  _ Never call me that. _

_ Fine, but what will the baby call you? _ The text from Sansa’s phone teased her.

In true Cersei Lannister form, she replied,  _ What baby? I don’t see a baby. Just a dead whore walking. _

It was then that Sansa caught up to where she had originally read, her response of,  _ Beautiful. _

And of course, Cersei’s parting words,  _ Yes, I am. Thanks for looking out.  _

Sansa looked back at Petyr, a swirl of emotions added to the churning in her belly. He could barely contain himself as he asked, “Isn’t it perfect? It wasn’t even an hour after, that she contacted Olyvar.” 

Sansa looked down at the timestamps on the messages. They had all happened the night before, when she was asleep in bed, tired from waiting up for Petyr to come home. “You took my phone while I was sleeping, and carried on a conversation with her?” She wondered if somehow saying it outloud would help him realize why she felt so conflicted over it. 

“Yes!” Petyr leaned back against his car, and pulled her into an embrace, nuzzling his face into her neck as he sighed happily. “After I saw that Jaime would only allow Kevan to do so much, I knew I had to pull the trigger on this. Go straight to Cersei, let her think Maragaery was pregnant with her very baby boy’s child.” 

“How did you get into my phone?” Sansa was finding it hard to be upset with his arms around her and his cheek resting on her collar bone. 

She felt his lips move against her skin. “Your password is the date you gained full custody of your siblings.” 

“How did you know?” She shifted her weight, the ache in her belly, begging her to move.

Petyr pressed a kiss to her before he lifted his head and brought his hands back around to rub her hard belly. “You’re having a contraction.” 

“Another fake one. Don’t change the subject,” She insisted.

He laughed, “I make it a point to know the queen I swear my fealty to.” 

Sansa rolled her eyes, “You’re so dramatic.”

“No, just enamoured.” Petyr smiled and turned to open his door.

“Maybe I should change my code?” Sansa watched him to gauge his reaction. 

He shrugged, “You can. I’ll just figured it out again.” He got in his car, rolling the window down with the door open. “It’s important that we both be able to get into each other’s phones.” He waved his hand in the air. “Especially for situations like these.” He closed the door, and rest his arm in the window. 

Sansa swayed a little, shifting her hips to relieve the pressure in her pelvis. “How often do you take my phone and look through it?” 

He stared back at her for a moment, the wheels in his head spinning. “Not typically. I did when I had it to text Cersei, because I was curious and it was at my fingertips. And to be honest, I needed to get a feel for your vernacular with her, if i was to imitate it.” 

She knew that it was a tactic of his to tell as much truth as he could so that people would believe a lie, or at least, not further question an omission. Also, ‘not typically’ was no real answer. “I can’t blame you for looking at things when you’re already into them. But, Petyr, why do I get the feeling that this is not the first time you’ve looked through my phone?” 

“Because you know that I’m resourceful. And you know that I don’t have to steal your phone to know what’s in it.” He started the car and hit the garage door button. 

Sansa felt her face heat, the aching in her back was building up again. She crossed her arms over her belly determined to ignore it as she said, “Well, it’s a good thing we don’t keep secrets from each other.” 

He smiled, “I don’t know why you’re so irritated about this. You have resources too. You can look at anything in my phone as well. And you know my password. I never changed it after you used it on our wedding day.” 

It was true, he hadn’t. She was ashamed to admit it, as offended as she was over him handling her phone, she had been guilty of it too. After their wedding day, while Petyr was recovering from his injuries, he wasn’t the most available to her, and she checked his phone relatively frequently then because of it. In the years following, she had periodically checked just to see if the passcode had changed any, and it hadn’t.

“Fine, Petyr. If we’re not keeping secrets, maybe you can tell me what Cersei’s planning then?” Sansa asked, her tone biting. 

Petyr clucked his teeth and popped a mint in his mouth. “No spoilers, Sansa. It’s a surprise.”

She watched him shift into reverse, keeping his foot on the brake pedal. “Jesus, you just can’t get out of here fast enough. I know you’ve got work to do today, but it’s like you’re escaping me.” 

Petyr reached through the window, pulling at her arm. His hand found hers as he explained, “I have some behind the scenes work to do, to make sure that everything goes smoothly. The minute I’m done, I’m coming home to you. You’ve got a baby to deliver.” 

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re so sure that I’m going to have her today?” 

Petyr gave a cheeky grin, “Of course. I seem to remember doing a variety of different things to ensure it.” He then glanced through his windshield to their home. “Jon knows to stick with you today. His girlfriend can wait.”

Feeling a touch of defiance, Sansa asked, “What if I don’t stay put? What if Jon and I go somewhere fun to get out of the house today?”

“Just stay out of downtown.” Petyr repeated, letting his foot off the brake, slowly backing up.

“Seriously?” She started walking to follow along side the car as it moved. “You’re fine with me leaving the house?” 

Petyr stopped the car in reverse, to look up at her with some more meaning behind his eyes. “I am not fine with it, but I respect your choices. You keep telling me you aren’t in labor, so as long as you aren’t, I don’t mind you being out. Besides, it’s not just Jon that will be with you until I get back.” 

“What? Who?” Sansa couldn’t think of anybody else Petyr would assign to her. 

“Don’t be mad,” Petyr gave a nervous look. 

“Mad?” Sansa’s brow wrinkled.  “Who is it, Petyr?” 

“I just felt like you two needed some time together,” he winced. “So I called Arya.”

“Arya?” It felt strange to say her name. They had gone a rather long time without talking since Sansa made Myrcella, Elenei’s godmother. “No, you’re wrong. She’d never come here.” 

“She would if you were in labor,” Petyr explained. 

Sansa shook her head, “But I’m not--” Realization struck and she glared at him. “Oh Petyr, you didn’t!” 

“I did.” He explained, “She will stay with you, and you two will work it out. And should you actually go into labor, she’s been to the classes and knows how to help you until you receive medical attention. She’s the best person, really.” 

She lifted her phone, “I’ll call and tell her that I’m not really in labor.” 

Petyr eased his foot off the brake, as he shook his head. “It’s no use. She’s already on her way, she won’t check her phone until she’s off her bike. When she gets here.” 

Sansa followed him out of the garage, as he rolled out into the driveway. “I hate that you called her. I don’t need a babysitter.”

He glanced down at her belly and joked, “We might sooner than you think.” 

“ _ Petyr!” _ Sansa growled as he cut the wheel. 

“I’ll be home by dinner, unless you go into labor before then.” Petyr smirked. 

Sansa considered lying and saying that she was in labor right then, just to keep him rooted in place. However, him calling Arya did not score him any points with her, and she didn’t mind that he was leaving as much as she might have before. “You’re so sure that I’m going to go into labor, today of all days?”

“She’s got to come at some point, and today is my day.” Now fully turned, Petyr put the car in drive. “You are everything to me. I will be here when you need me.”

That was that. There was no keeping him any longer. Whatever was going on, Petyr was certain that he needed to be present, managing any chaos that resulted from Cersei’s actions. Sansa blew him a kiss to take away and minor hesitation he might have felt about leaving his extremely pregnant wife at home while he ran off to manage god knows what.  _ I’m so glad we’re communicating, _ Sansa thought to herself as she turned back towards the garage. 

Jon was standing in the doorway, looking quite broody, with his hands in his pockets looking at his shoes. Another cramp ran through her and she smoothed her hands down her dress, over her belly, as if trying to rub the pain away. “Why do you look so unhappy?” She all but growled. 

He denied looking so as she passed by him, and shuffled along behind. Her hands came to rest on the small of her back, pressing into the soreness as she said, “Arya’s on her way.” 

Jon nodded quickly, as if he’d already known that and was expecting her. 

“How did you know?” Sansa turned on him. 

He answered that after Petyr told Arya that Sansa was in labor, she texted Jon to verify. Sansa eyed him, “And you didn’t tell her that I wasn’t?” 

His lips twitched into a bit of a smile as his hands moved, telling her he did, but that Arya misinterpreted the message. 

“Misinterpreted?” Sansa felt warm, and a little sweaty. She had forgotten to put deodorant on in her rush to catch up with Petyr. He was in such a hurry that morning, that there were many things she’d forgotten, like deodorant  _ and underwear _ . In fact, she didn’t recall handing Petyr any either. His hesitation in putting his pants on, finally dawned on her. He was waiting for her to reach in his top draw and pull a pair of boxer briefs out. When she never did, he finally settled on going commando, not questioning her.  _ Like a good husband, _ she snickered to herself.

She glanced back up at Jon, “What do you mean by,  _ misinterpreted _ ?” Almost as quickly as she asked it, she remembered that Jon only communicated with Arya through emojis. “What emoji did you send?” 

His grin grew as he told her that it was a suitcase because he couldn’t find a shopping bag. She shook her head, not understanding. “Shopping bag?” 

He shrugged and said that it was meant to show that not only was she not in labor, but that she was doing so well that she could go shopping. Sansa laughed, one hand moving from her back to her belly, feeling it tighten. “So, somehow she mistook a shopping bag for me being in labor?” 

Jon shook his head no. He gave an apologetic look as he held up his hands to remind her that it was  _ supposed  _ to be a shopping bag, but it was actually a suitcase. A suitcase, which Arya mistook to mean a hospital bag. 

“And you didn’t correct her?” Sansa gestured for him to follow her as she waddled towards her bedroom. 

He told her that he gave Arya a “thumbs down” emoji for a response. Sansa walked into the master bathroom and reached into the medicine cabinet. “Okay? And?” She cursed under her breath, not finding her deodorant. She did, however, find some tylenol, and popped two. 

She glanced over at Jon as he responded that Arya also misinterpreted the thumbs down to mean that something serious was wrong. A series of thumbs down to her various concerns later, lead Arya to decide that there were no major complications with Sansa, but instead that Jon was simply being a poor sport about the baby. 

“She thinks you’re unhappy about the baby?” Sansa coughed a laugh as she pulled open various drawers, searching for her deodorant. “Why would she think that?” 

He shrugged again, his movement was so subtle that she almost didn’t catch him add that perhaps it was because he was moving out. Her head shot up, “ _ What? _ ”

She didn’t realize she had found the deodorant until she was waving it around. “Why? When? Why does Arya know, and not me?” Sansa felt a tear gather in her eye, and furiously blinked it away. 

His look was relaxed as he assured her that it wasn’t going to happen right away, and that Arya only knew because Ygritte. They were at Wolfswood drinking together, and Ygritte let it slip that they were going to move in together. Arya just drew the conclusion that he was jealous over the baby, and that’s why he decided to leave.

Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat. “So, are you? Is that why? Cause you’ve only ever been supportive of Elenei...are you not really?”

Jon shook his head, smiling as he emphasized the word  _ niece _ , demonstrating that he felt himself closer to Sansa than a cousin. He looked almost offended for a moment over the idea that he would be  jealous of the baby. 

It had nothing to do with Elenei at all. Or maybe it had? He suddenly looked conflicted. He ran his hand through his hair as he explained that Elenei coming was a reminder to him that his own biological clock was ticking. 

Sansa scowled at him, unable to quiet the petulant child within. He was her Jon, the man who guarded her life, and helped her pick out shoes. How dare he suddenly want a life of his own? 

His eyebrows wrinkled as he told her that he and Ygritte were getting closer, and things were progressing in their relationship. His hands emphasized that this was  _ natural _ , in a relationship. It just made sense for them to live together. His eyes looked conflicted, as if he wanted to be happy, but was only just then seeing how sad this change might also make him.

“So, what does this mean? Do you not want to work for me anymore, too?” She signed to him, rather than spoke. The tear she’d been fighting rolled down her cheek and her voice broke as her hands said, “We’ve never not lived together.” 

His eyes softened and the frown on his face grew before he surprised her by suddenly snatching her up in his arms, crushing her to him in a great big hug. Sansa buried her face in his chest to muffle her sadness, the only sound that punctuated their quiet familial moment was the when the deodorant slipped from her hand and crashed to the tile floor. She didn’t want to be comforted so easily, but she was. Her arms came up, hugging him back. 

As he pulled away, a cramp shot through her, and she tightened her grip. Her jaw clenched as she breathed through her nose. Concern was evident in Jon’s brow as he let her brace herself on him, and searched her face to ascertain her safety.

Slowly, she regained her composure and forced a smile to soothe him. She waved her hand dismissively as she said, “See? It’s gone. It’s just round ligament pain. Totally fine.” 

Jon stared at her, clearly not a hundred percent convinced. She kept her smile in place, “Oh, stop worrying. You look like Petyr. I’m fine.” She glanced down at the deodorant on the floor. “Well, except for the fact that I dropped my deodorant, and I’m pretty sure I’m too big to bend down to get it.” 

He reached for it, not taking his eyes off her. Sansa took it from him, and put it on, laughing, “Are you seriously watching me put deodorant on right now?” 

He glanced away, with an uncomfortable chuckle. 

Sansa was about to broach the subject of Jon’s leaving again, when she heard a loud bang and a muffled scream, “WHERE IN THE  _ EVER-LOVING-FUCK _ IS SHE?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks again to DethroneJane for looking this over and helping me see something I was missing :-)


	40. Stark Women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do we look standard to you?” Arya cracked her knuckles as she spoke.

Sansa quietly stepped down the hall, trying not to announce her presence as she looked for Arya, who was loudly searching for her as well. Jeans ripped at the knees, and ribs hanging out of the t-shirt she’d cut the arms off of, were a staple look of Arya that never changed regardless of the circumstances. A thick two inch band of black under her armpits, indicated that she was at least, wearing a bra. Her hair was way messier than normal, and _wetter_? She must have come straight from the shower, hurrying over.

Jon was less subtle in his steps, unable to read Sansa’s mind to know that she was trying to be quiet. Arya turned quickly and spotted her. “There you are!”

Her boots thunked across the marble as she charged forward. “Home-births are fucking stupid! You need a hospital and drugs, now!”

“Not quite,” Sansa replied, mildly.

“Shut up and breathe.” Arya already had her arm around her, scooting her along. She turned to Jon as she walked Sansa, “Where’s Petyr? He called me, but where is he?”

Sansa tried to push her off. “I’m not in labor.”

“Sansa! I’m trying to help, here. Where’s your bag?” Arya was as bullheaded as they came sometimes.

“What bag?” Sansa asked, trying to shimmy out of her grip.

That was when Jon finally decided to be helpful and pointed at his phone, reminding her of the hospital bag-shopping bag-suitcase debacle.

“Oh, right!” Sansa laughed. She shook her head, “I don’t have one of those.”

“What? You don’t--” Arya stopped, her face scrunched in confusion. “Wait. Are you fucking _laughing_ right now?”

Now Jon was too.

Arya let go of her, the veins in her neck popped as she spoke. “You’re supposed to be in the worst pain of your life and you’re fucking laughing?”

Sansa’s laughter only grew, shaking her belly, making her hold it when pangs of discomfort protested all the jostling.

“He said you were in labor.” Arya looked at Sansa’s baby bump in disbelief.

Sansa wiped a tear in her eye from all the laughing. “He lied.”

“That fucker!” Arya growled.

“Yes,” Sansa smiled. Only Petyr could make her simultaneously want to throttle him and straddle him. He had a talent for that sort of thing.

“I suppose I won’t ask why he did this.” Arya plopped onto the couch, feeling comfortable enough to set her boots on the coffee table.

Sansa tried not to let it bother her. In the end, it was Jon that eyed Arya and motioned for her to put her feet down. Arya groaned, “Fine. Whatever.”

Sansa felt a tightness in her belly, a breathable tightness, completely manageable. Or, at least, that’s what she told herself, as she felt a flush creep up from her lower back to her chest, and to her neck and cheeks, last. She worked to look unaffected. “Well, thank you for stopping by, but as you can see, I’m fine.”

“Whoa. _Rude_.” Arya scoffed, as she moved throw pillows around, and drove her hand between couch cushions.

“ _Rude_ ?”  Sansa’s eyes bulged. “ _Excuse me_?” If anything, Arya was the one who was being rude, storming into her house and refusing to leave, disheveling her furniture. What was most insulting, was the fact that it took the threat of labor to make Arya care enough to show up.

Apparently not seeing any of her own fault, she exclaimed, “Dig out your ears!” Arya threw her hands up. “Or, you know, just fucking listen to people when they talk.”

Irritation prickled through Sansa, every hair stood on end, letting her feel the uncomfortable weight of her clothes on her. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Jon had to step around Sansa to be seen by both of them. His hands waved frantically to make peace.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arya ignored Jon’s smoke signals.

Sansa shifted, to ease the ache in one hip, and move it to the other. “It means, you have to actually talk for me to listen. _You_ , haven’t been talking to me, despite all the times I tried calling.”

Arya squared her shoulders, as if ready to fight. “Oh, yeah! That’s right. _Of course,_ you called to give me some lame-ass excuse for giving me the fucking shaft!”

“Shaft?” Sansa’s jaw tightened along with her abdominal muscles.

Arya ran her hand through her unkempt mop. “Apparently I’m not good enough to be godmother?”

Jon jumped in the middle again, like an air traffic controller, trying to send them in opposite directions, before collision.

As if he wasn’t even present, Sansa rubbed the hard lumps in her belly and insisted, “No one is saying that.”

Arya crossed her arms. Her voice lowered, but did not soften. “You did.”

Sansa sighed, the pressure in her belly slowly easing. “No, I made a _business decision._ ”

“This is not that.” Arya shook her head at her before emphasizing, “This is _family_.”

If only it were that easy. For Sansa, that line had been blurred long ago, and try as she might, she hadn’t been able to separate the two since. “Sometimes those two things are one and the same.”

What was meant to be a meaningful explanation, turned into more fuel for her younger sister’s fire. Arya rolled her eyes. “Can you hear yourself talking right now?”

Sansa suddenly felt so exhausted by the conversation, that she wanted more than anything for it to just end, so she nipped back in an attempt to get her to stop. “Can you? I know you hate hearing me out.”

“Fuck you, Sansa. If I don’t listen to you, it’s because I don’t want to hear some bullshit excuse.” Arya laughed sardonically.

“It’s not _bullshit_ to make smart decisions for my family. And it’s not an excuse either!” Sansa shot back quickly, hating how easily her voice was raising.

Arya didn’t respond right away, as expected, leaving an uncomfortable silence. Jon’s gaze darted between the two sisters, as he rubbed at his arm, nervously.

Finally, Arya responded, “You do love making decisions for this family, don’t you.” She smirked little as she said, “Not sure how smart they are, though.”

Sansa’s stomach tightened again, and she rubbed it affectionately, tiredly, and with very little patience. “You had no problem with me making decisions when I became guardian.”

“That was different. There was no business involved there. It was family.” Arya pointed at the family pictures on the wall for emphasis.

Sansa felt like screaming, her voice escalating, “It’s all family! And it’s all business.”

Jon’s arms rose quickly, waving erratically as he tried to calm them, remind them that they were sisters and loved each other. He went so far as to point out that he felt Sansa had done a great job of supporting the family for years.

Before he could explain any further, she was quick to take offense. “Of course you’d defend her, she’s been mixing family and business with you for years.”

Another contraction caught Sansa off guard, more pressure than before. She took a shallow breath and watched as Jon stood up for himself with Arya. His lips pursed as his hands explained that he felt fine with his relationship with Sansa and that if Arya was having difficulty maybe she needed to work through her stuff.

Arya blinked back at him, completely surprised by his candor. Jon was always the great peacemaker, never one to speak up if it was only for himself. Perhaps Ygritte was a better influence on him than Sansa realized.

Sansa allowed some silence to follow Jon’s reply, knowing it would increase the impact. Finally, she turned to Arya again. “Do you not get who raised us? Where we come from? What we do?” Sansa took a step toward her as she emphasized, “Do you think Mom and Dad were teachers, doctors, lawyers?”

Arya scowled. She’d crossed her arms, but let her hand grip her biceps, which only made it look as if she was hugging herself.

“Where do you think the money came from? Where do you think the connections came from?” Sansa took another step forward, ignoring the pain she felt. Sansa screamed, losing self-control, “Why do you think people showed up at our house and _MURDERED_ them!”

Unwilling to take kindly to being screamed at, Arya lifted her chin. “I know full-fucking-well who our parents were.”

“Then you know about the Stark Wolf Pack-- _Pack_ , Arya. It wasn’t just them, the adults. They were including us. How many children do you know are given guns as birthday presents? I am not the devil because I see that business and family go together sometimes.” Sansa shifted her weight again, and held her belly.

Arya laughed, and waved her hand at her dismissively, “Look at you just following in their footsteps.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sansa didn’t understand what she meant exactly. They hadn’t yet had Elenei. No one was training her as she’d been trained.

“ _Rickon._ ”

Sansa instantly understood, and just as quickly, became defensive about it. “What about him?”

“Don’t play stupid. I know you’re having him work for you.” Arya glared at her, disappointment prominently displayed on her features.

Jon sighed and hung his head, only making Sansa look more guilty. It was true they were having Rickon work for them, but that didn’t mean that he was officially ‘working for’ them. It was his choice, and he was always agreeable. His most recent job being tracing the contact number that Petyr had for the supposed Sons of the Harpy. He’d found a name, _Targaryen._ It wasn’t one that she’d heard before and Petyr seemed unfamiliar with it too. Petyr had Rickon search around more for that name to see what it was linked to, which was not much, just a shipping company that disappeared overnight. She tried to remember the name of it, but couldn’t seem to.

Arya cleared her throat, reminding her that she was still very much there, and pissed off. Sansa refocused herself and fought Arya’s attack. “It was his choice. I’ve always let it be his choice.”

Not taking that for an answer, Arya started pointing her finger at Sansa as she insisted, “On your wedding day we agreed, he shouldn’t be allowed into this life.”

Sansa was quick to use the same occasion to her advantage. “ _On my wedding day_ , you said _you_ didn’t want into it.”

“And I don’t.”

Her response was quick and cold, but Sansa couldn’t let that deter her. “Imagine my surprise when I saw my little sister marching in and out of a _job,_ ditching a car, changing her clothes out by a dumpster.” Sansa was sure to emphasize each offense she added to the stack, glancing over at Jon for validation.

Jon didn’t meet her eye, too busy looking disapprovingly upon Arya. His hands came up to tell her that he was there too. He saw, _too_. Then he asked her why she never told anyone, why she didn’t feel she could.

Arya sighed uncomfortably, her fingers started fidgeting with the chains she wore around her neck. Jon hit her with feelings, something Arya usually tried to avoid. Sansa wondered if that’s why he always insisted on speaking to her through emojis, rather than risking a feeling be written in text for her to read. Arya never seemed to have as much of a problem with Sansa expressing her feelings, as she did when it was Jon. Sansa didn’t bother trying to understand, they both had their own special relationship with Jon.

Sansa held her belly through another wave of warmth, and constriction. “Apparently, it’s not that you don’t want a piece of the action, it’s that you just don’t want to work for me.”

“I never said that.” Arya’s voice was quiet.

“How long, Arya?” Sansa was determined to get to the sense of betrayal she felt.

“ _Sansa_.”

“How long?!” Sansa demanded to know, shaking with anger. Jon came up beside her, his closer proximity meant to be a comfort. It only made her feel crowded and more irritable.

Arya bit the inside of her cheek and shrugged quickly, defensively. “Long enough, okay.”

Sansa couldn’t believe her audacity. No, it wasn’t okay, but it would have to be, cause she was sure Arya wasn’t going to give up any more. This time the contraction felt like a cramp that wouldn’t go away, and it sapped her energy. She tried to keep the exhaustion from her voice as she gave up, “Go home, Arya. I’m clearly not in labor.”

Arya looked her over, inspecting her closely before she said, “No, I don’t think I will. I’ll stay, thanks.”

“What?” Sansa breathed, her face heated, and she wiped away a bit of sweat that touched her temples.

“You’re gonna pop! The whole world seems to know that, _except you_.” Arya smiled sarcastically before making a show of plopping down on the couch and setting her feet back on the coffee table defiantly. “You’re gonna need me here.”

Sansa scoffed, “That’s a bit _fair-weather,_ don’t you think? After calling you forever and you _not answering_ , you suddenly refuse to leave my side?”

Arya crossed her arms and shrugged at her, refusing to speak, or move. Sansa laughed, willfully ignoring the overwhelming pressure she felt further down below than before. “Excuse me, but _fuck you_.”

She turned quickly, not feeling up for any response Arya could give her. Sansa all but scurried to get to her safety of her bedroom. She brought the big fluffy comforter up over her, and tried to convince herself that she was somehow more comfortable than she was a moment before. It was a lie, nothing made her more comfortable. There was no escape from the involuntary flexing, cramping, and stretching. She remembered the pregnancy app telling her that some women could be in labor for a couple of days, and refused to imagine herself trying to push a baby out for hours on end.

Sansa lost track of time, laying in bed, feeling her contractions, ones she knew had to be false. They had all always been false. These ones were no different, just more persistent. She had been wanting to deliver this baby for a long time, and now there was the very real possibility that she would be soon. Was she ready? Probably not. _Mom would have been ready,_ she thought to herself. With all the miscarriages Catelyn Stark suffered, she would have welcomed a baby with open arms, no matter what pain she body went through. She could hear her mother’s words, _Whatever it is, endure._ Catelyn was ready for anything, always.

A tear rolled down Sansa’s cheek, caught by the pillow. She would have given anything for her mother to be there, a strong confident face telling her that she had this under control, that she could do this, she could _endure._

Arya’s muffled voice on the other side of the bedroom door, exclaimed, “Shove off, Jon. Girl time. I know what I’m doing. Sisters fight.” The door opened slowly, Arya’s face hovered over a bowl of popcorn.

Sansa didn’t deny her entrance, or offer any obligatory look of disdain, as her younger sister padded across her bedroom and climbed in bed next to her, setting the popcorn between them. Arya laid her head on Petyr’s pillow and stared back at her. Sansa wondered how unimpressed Petyr would be with Arya laying on his side of the bed, using one of his pillows. However, the relief she felt laying beside her sister, not saying a word, just _being_ , overrode any thought to how ruffled Petyr might have gotten over his personal space. Arya’s hand raised cautiously in the air, and slowly set down on Sansa’s belly. After a couple of moments and a warning inhale, Arya asked, “How is she?”

“I don’t know. She doesn’t move as much now.” Sansa saw no point in trying to hide her concern. “They say that’s normal, but I miss knowing more.”

Arya smiled, “I bet. Can’t say I wouldn’t feel the same.” Her hand worked in a couple of circles as she sighed, “Oh, Elenei, stop worrying your mother.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “Who told you that’s what we’re naming her?”

“Petyr.” Arya quickly corrected herself, “Well he didn’t tell me, he ran it by me, then told me he’d think about it. Then Jon told me when you told him. I acted like I didn’t know.” She shrugged, “Jon’s such a gossip, he likes to be the first to know and tell.”

Sansa smiled at that. He did always seem to know everyone’s business, but he also didn’t seem to share things until they’d come out already. Sansa’s hand ran over Arya’s holding it to her as she held her accountable for her secrecy. “I imagine you’ve gotten quite good at acting, Arya.”

“And you’re not? Miss ‘I’m fine.’” Arya met her head on, no doubt feeling the belly beneath her hand harden. “You’re not fine. Maybe Petyr and Jon are too fucking stupid to see it, but Sans, you aren’t fooling me. You can’t. I _know_ you.”

She was right. Too right. Sansa wasn’t ready for that truth and tried to deflect with humor, groaning, “What do you want me to say? My uterus hurts?”

Arya started laughing, and Sansa joined her, happy that it seemed to work. Another cramp gripped her and she breathed through it, as inconspicuously as possible. Arya eyed her, clearly suspecting something. To avoid any further investigation, Sansa redirected their conversation, “It’s Bronn, isn’t it? Obviously, it is. But, way back, on the boat, that’s when it started.” She shook her head, “I should have known.”

The worry left Arya’s eyes as she shook her head against the pillow. “No. It wasn’t on the boat. It didn’t start till a while after that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sansa asked, another tear welling in her eye, not for the absent mother, but for the distant sister.

Arya removed her hand, and turned to face the ceiling as she sighed, “You know why.”

Sansa took a deep breath, “Because you think I would expect you to work for me.”

“Can you blame me?” Arya asked. Her hands moved in the air. “Look, that’s just not an expectation I want on me.” Arya gestured towards the bedroom door. “Jon works for you. Bran worked for you. Rob only got away from it because he moved out of the country. And now, _Rickon_ . Seriously, Sansa?” She sat up and looked down at her, “You’ve got our baby brother working for you, for the _mob_.”

Sansa started to squirm uncomfortably, lifting herself to sit up as well, despite the aching. “It’s only a little, and it’s his choice…sort of.”

Arya shrugged, “Well, for me, it’s only a little and it is one hundred percent my choice…to be an assassin.”

“Assassin.” Sansa said it outloud. “It feels so strange to say.”

Arya chuckled nervously, “You sound like Gen.”

“What does he say about all this?” Sansa couldn’t help her curiosity.

“He says he doesn’t want to know about the shit I do with Bronn.” Arya shrugged. “It’s the closest he gets to jealous. Says he gets that Bronn gives me something he can’t and as long as it doesn’t fuck up our time together, he’s cool with it.”

Sansa couldn’t wrap her head around that. It was so different for her and Petyr, he’d never allow someone else meet a need of hers, and likewise. If they weren’t what the other needed, they would quickly become it. Gendry’s level of understanding was commendable, and not typical. “Gen’s one in a million, Arya.” Sansa acknowledged.

“He is.” She reached for the popcorn, and jammed some in her mouth before she added, “So is Bronn.”

Another contraction heated Sansa, sweat gathering on her inner thighs. She pulled the comforter back, trying to cool herself down as she distracted herself. “Is it weird? You know, having two men?” It was as if they were teenagers again, in bed talking about boys. Not that they did that much, but they had the occasional moment.

Arya’s face sobered as she answered with complete honesty, “Sometimes, yes. But I wouldn’t trade it. They love me. In their own way. And Sans, I love them too.”

“In your own way,” Sansa predicted her next words.

Arya closed her eyes, clearly feeling judged. “I know it sounds fucked. But it works. I think about you and Mom, and I’m just not like the two of you.”

She was right, and yet, so completely wrong. Arya was like any other Stark woman, fiercely devoted to those she loved, and determined every day to be stronger than the day before. Sansa blinked back another tear, “I miss her.”

Arya didn’t have to ask who Sansa meant. “Me too.”

“I want to see her,” Sansa confessed.

“Me too.” Arya agreed.

“Petyr doesn’t approve.” Sansa rolled her eyes and climbed out of bed, shifting her weight back and forth, in a slight sideways rock.  

Arya flung her legs around the side of the bed, and scrunched her face. “Of what? You missing Mom? Tell him to stuff it.” She grabbed another handful of popcorn and shoved it in her mouth.  

Sansa waved away the bowl that Arya tried to push towards her. “No, of visiting her grave. He says it’s too far out away from all the hospitals.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” Arya nodded.

“ _Arya!_ ” Sansa felt betrayed that she was taking his side.

She smiled, “What? I’ve never known you to give two shits about what anybody tells you to do. If you want to go, you’ll go.”

Sansa thought back to her conversation with Petyr that morning. He said anywhere but downtown. Deepwood was far from downtown. She grinned victoriously, “Okay, let’s go.”

“Wait, what?” Arya stood up, incredulous. “ _Right now?_ ”

“Yes!” Sansa had found a loophole, and wasn’t going to miss the chance to visit her mother before her baby was born. She would draw strength from the strongest Stark woman of them all.

Arya jumped out in front of her, a tiny tree obstructing a great big boulder, rolling down a hill and gaining speed. “No way in hell would Petyr let you go to Deepwood on his day.”

Sansa moved past her with ease. “You just said that I do what I want.” Then something occurred to her, “What do you mean ‘his day’? He said that before he left. What does that mean?”

“Oh, the baby pool.” Arya nonchalantly explained. “Petyr took bets on when you pop.”

“Seriously, can you stop saying ‘pop’?” Sansa glared at her. “He took bets?” She typed him a quick message, _You took bets on when I’d deliver? Actual bets._

 _Of course,_ he replied quickly.

“And he bet on today?” Sansa thought to their morning, how insistent he was to help induce her. That son of a bitch. She typed quickly, _You said today was your day._

“Yeah, he stands to win a lot of cash too.” Arya smiled, “There were a lot of people in the pool.

“A lot of people?” Sansa felt another contraction as she read his reply, _I did._

 _Explains why you were so insistent on fucking this morning._ Sansa couldn’t help the offense she was taking to this whole situation.

“Yeah.” Arya started counting off on her fingers, “Petyr, me, Varys-- I got Bronn and Gen in on it too. Some woman you and Petyr work with, _Ros_? Rickon and Robb called in their bets. Oh, Talisa called separately with her bet, saying she didn’t agree with the date Robb picked.” She was one finger shy of filling both hands. “Jon didn’t, only ‘cause he’s holding the cash.”

Sansa looked down at the vibration in her hand. _I don’t need an excuse to want to fuck you EVERY morning. But if you say I need one, I’ll use whatever it takes to get inside you._

She felt an excited jump in her stomach, at that. Elenei didn’t move like that anymore, filling up too much of her belly to jump around in it. It was her own feelings taking effect. Leave it to Petyr to flirt with her when she was feeling the worst she’d ever felt in her life, and that included her morning sickness days.

She looked down at her phone and read, _I'm shipping out to war tomorrow, tonight is our last night together._ She smirked and read his next message, _I think I may be gay, can you help me figure it out?_ She giggled at that one, and went on to read, _Promise I’ll pull out._

She couldn’t contain her laughter, as her hand rubbed over her very pregnant belly, proving that he was apt to break that particular promise. Arya cocked an eyebrow, clearly surprised by Sansa’s sudden change in mood. “What’s so funny?”

Sansa sighed through another contraction, “Petyr’s being cute.” She texted back, _Ok, ok. I’m convinced. You care more about fucking me than you do some stupid bet._

“You’re the only person on the planet that could think _Littlefinger_ is ‘cute.’ Do you know that?” Arya shook her head.

Sansa scowled, “You know he likes it when family calls him Petyr.”

“I know. I’m just trying to make a point,” Arya replied quickly.

Sansa glanced down at her phone to read his response. _Unequivocally. But why choose? Can’t we have both?_

She sighed at that. That was just so Petyr to push for the maximum in all things. _You do like to win._ She thought of the adorable dimples that grew on his face. Sansa picked her head up, and readdressed Arya. “I get it. Let’s go.”

“No,” Arya jumped out in front of her again and crossed her arms. “This is fucking stupid. You’re in labor.”

“I am not,” Sansa lied more to herself than Arya.

“Bullshit!” Arya actually laughed.

Sansa took a deep breath, trying to calm her growing ire. “Okay, Arya. What are the signs of labor? Do you remember? I do. I’m not in labor until I’m in too much pain to talk through the contractions. And they become regular, every four to five minutes. These aren’t like that. They come at random and I can always talk through them.”

Arya eyed her, silently weighing out what Sansa told her. Finally, she came to her decision, “No.”

Tired of this roadblock, Sansa called out, “Jon!”

“Oh, fucking cute, Sans!” Arya exclaimed, angrily.

Within a couple of seconds, Jon appeared, and looked between the two sisters, trying to determine the issue. Sansa waved at Arya, “Please move her out of the way for me.”

Jon gave Arya a questioning look. Arya didn’t hesitate to explain, “She wants to go to Deepwood.”

Jon whipped around, and gawked at Sansa. His hands flew up to ask her if she was crazy. He told her what she already knew, that Deepwood was too far out away from everything, that a cemetery wasn’t going anywhere and would be there long after she safely delivered Elenei. When he realized she wasn’t going to relent, he swallowed his protest and insisted on going too.

“Move,” Sansa commanded Arya. “Jon’s coming with me, I’ll be fine.”

Arya threw her hands up, “This is stupid, Sansa. You’re about to--”

Sansa’s jaw tightened through the pain as she glared at her, daring her to say ‘pop.’

“Have a baby,” she finished carefully.

“Yes, I am about to have a baby. But I’m not having her right now. _Right now,_ I’m going to see Mom. Either come with me or shut up.” Sansa insisted.

“Fine.” Arya smacked her palm to her forehead and held it there in defeat. Then she lifted her head quickly and asserted, “Under one condition.”

Sansa didn’t need conditions. She was the one who made conditions. She considered charging past her, knowing Arya wouldn’t wrestle a pregnant woman, but decided to humor her. “What condition?”

“We take your hospital bag, okay?” Arya held her hands up. “Just in case. That’s all.”

Jon turned to Sansa, and gave her a distinctly protective older brother look. It was one that brooked no argument on the matter. Sansa sighed, “Okay, fine.”

“Where is it?” Arya glanced around Sansa’s bedroom.

Sansa realized for the first time that she didn’t quite know. She knew that Varys had packed her a couple of them weeks ago, too anxious and overprotective to allow her to forget that important detail. She pulled his contact up and listened to the phone ring.

“Can I help you with something?” He didn’t bother with greetings, knowing it was her.

“Where did you put my hospital bag?” Sansa asked.

“Which one?”

Sansa was confused. “What do you mean?”

“I packed two. One for if you bottle fed, and one for if you choose to breastfeed. They both have loose fitting clothing in them for you, as well as hygiene products, and the same newborn outfits, just different feeding items.” Varys explained.

Did she have to decide that now? She knew that most women had already chosen by then, but she was not one of those women, and she didn’t appreciate feeling like she had to make that choice right then. “Both.”

“They are already in the garage, on the shelf closest the Lexus.” Varys sighed, clearly unimpressed with her response.

Sansa scowled over the phone, “If they were both in the same place, why did you ask me to specify which one?”

He was quick to respond, “No reason.”

“ _Varys._ ”

“I was just curious which you’d decide, in regards to nourishing Elenei. Breast truly is best, Sansa, but the decision is yours to make.” Varys inserted his unwanted opinion.

“I appreciate your concern. However, for the moment, I’d appreciate your focus on our business matters more.” She spoke sternly.

Arya raised her eyebrow at her, in a silent note of Sansa’s hypocrisy. Sansa glared at her, “The bags are in the garage, I’ll be right there.”

Arya rolled her eyes and grabbed Jon’s arm, pulling him along with her. Sansa returned to her call, determined to keep Varys’ mind working on more productive things. “Speaking of business, what was the name of that shipping company linked with the name Rickon gave us?”

Varys paused, “Why do you ask?”

“Because it’s important to me, and it should be to you too.” Sansa shot back, feeling the pain harden her tone. “What was the name?”

“ _Greyscale Shipping_ ,” his voice was quick and low, as if divulging the information, even to her, was distasteful.

Sansa took a breath and reminded herself if she could talk, she wasn’t in labor. She controlled her voice to the best of her ability, “Have we heard anymore about them?”

“May I ask why you’re troubling yourself with this now?” Varys answered her question with one of his own.

The cramps that shook through her, calmed and she fanned herself with her hand. “Because since we discovered their name, they’ve fallen off the map.”

“If they’re that good at importing/exporting, they will resurface.” Varys dismissed her concern.

Sansa inhaled through her nostrils, proud of her ability to maintain the conversation. “You’re so sure?”

“I’ve been in this business longer than you have, trust me.” Varys assured her.

Never. It was nothing personal. Sansa didn’t trust anyone. “I just feel like we’re missing something here. They crop up out of nowhere, and just as quickly, they disappear.”

“You should be focused on the baby. Don’t worry about these things.” Varys’ voice was meant to be soothing, but it failed short. “Petyr and I have been in this business for years. Business associates come and go.”

A particularly strong contraction hit and Sansa gripped the table in the hallway. She opened her mouth as wide as it could go, to disperse the sound of her heavy breathing, minimize it to the best of her ability. Varys still heard, however, “Are you alright? Is today the day? Should I send someone?”

Sansa felt her muscles relax and the air fill her lungs. Her copy of “Adventures of Elenei” sat on the table, passive to her struggle. She picked it up, clutching it to her chest as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red rimmed, cheeks splotchy from her exertion, and the knuckles on the hand that held her phone to her ear were white. “I’m fine.”

“Oh.” He sounded almost upset.

“Is it?” She challenged him, anger starting to rise. She had just worked very hard to sound fine, and he didn’t seem to appreciate her effort.

“Yes, of course. I was just wondering when we’d get to meet little Elenei.” Varys spoke quickly to cover his slip.

Sansa thought back to Arya’s words. Varys was in on the pool. “Which day is yours? For the pool. Don’t deny it, I know about it already.”

“Today.”

She almost laughed. “The same day as Petyr.”

“It’s always best to bet _with_ him, never against him.” Varys spoke proudly, “I knew he’d do whatever he needed to, to _help you along._ ”

In no mood for niceties, Sansa cut straight to the point. “Like nipple-stimulation?”

Silence filled the other side of the phone.

“Goodbye, Varys.” Sansa smirked.

“Goodbye, San--” She already hung up and stormed out, letting the door slam behind her, for no one to hear.

The drive to Deepwood, was just what she needed. Her, Jon, and Arya, all together again. No spouses or significant others to consider, still no children to steal the attention, yet. It was just the three of them, like the old days. Sansa insisted on sitting in the backseat. Arya said it was because she was so used to being driven around, but Sansa chose the back to better hide how severely her pregnancy was affecting her. She often times brought her hand to mouth, as if in thought, but it was truly just to stifle the sound of her own exertion.  

The moment the car pulled to a stop at Deadwood, Sansa instantly started looking for her mother’s grave. When she got out, she was surprised to see Bronn already there waiting with the surgeon she met at Petyr’s bedside. She shot Arya an accusatory look.

“I texted Bronn, and asked for Thoros to be here at the ready, just in case.” Arya confessed.

“I’m fine,” Sansa huffed, the pressure that she’d been suffering in a seated position in the car, now amplified as she stood upright. She felt a feverish chill shiver through her, and a stabbing pain down between her legs.

“Fuck you are,” Bronn insisted, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes examined her. “Your man know how far gone you are?”

“Of course he does!” Arya defended her.

Bronn shook his head. “I have a hard time believing that, considering, she’s out here in the middle of nowhere. Baelish wouldn’t go for that.”

“What man doesn’t know his wife is four days overdue?” Arya challenged him. “He’s aware. It’s fine.”

Sansa eyed her, distinctly remembering saying the same thing. How the hypocritical tables had turned. Jon sighed, clearly understanding the non-verbal interchange.

“Johnny-boy!” Bronn exclaimed, having just then seen him.

Jon smiled when Bronn clasped a hand to his shoulder, giving him a hearty shake and added, “It’s good to see ya.”

Jon nodded back to him. Another deep pulling within, caught Sansa’s attention, and she smoothed her dress over her belly, letting her hand settle just below it, pressing back against the pain. She had come too far to waste time with the peanut gallery all commenting and blocking. She went straight for the Stark plots, calling back over her shoulder, “I need to see Mom.”

Her feet took her where she needed to go, and though she knew her walk had turned to more of a waddle, she no longer cared. She passed over her father’s grave, vowing to visit him later; this was about her mother. Standing over the place her mother was laid to rest, Sansa felt her heavy heart lighten. She wanted to get closer, so she attempted to crouch, but a sudden cramp rippled through her and she ended up falling down a bit. Luckily she was low enough to the ground and her hip took most of the impact, that she wasn’t injured.

She glanced over her shoulder quickly, confirming that all four sets of eyes were watching, and had in fact, seen her clumsy fall. She turned back around, determined not to be embarrassed by it, and braced herself on the ground as she held her belly. She read the engraving she knew by heart: _Catelyn Stark, Beloved wife and mother. Generous Philanthropist and Devoted Activist. May she find peace and completion eternally at her husband’s side._

How polite. It was Robb who picked the words, but it was all of the Stark children who nodded their shallow agreement, so deep in their grief they would have agreed to anything. It wasn’t that she disagreed with any of it, just that it lacked the raw emotion a daughter felt for her mother.

She gasped for air as another contraction ripped through her, and she stared at the stone in ahead of her, focusing on the curve and depth of the letters, grounding her concentration. This one was lasting longer than the others, and Sansa tried to distract herself from the feeling, wondering what her own epitaph might say. Who would write it? Jon would have something in mind, but he’d keep it to himself. Robb would bow down to whoever was most passionate. Rickon may have words, but would he share them? She couldn’t tell. Arya would have opinions, but would she articulate? Petyr would. He would insist. She smiled to herself, as she thought of him dominating her death as severely as he had her life.

She closed her yes and whispered, “Oh, Mom. I’m not ready for this. I’m just not.”

Silence filled the air.

She didn’t know what she was expecting. The spectators had been left some twenty yards behind, making small talk, while she focused all her efforts, on what, she wasn’t sure. Another pain stabbed through her, and she reached out to touch the smooth stone with the worn edges. Tears stung her eyes, her breathing shallow. “It’s too much.”

Memory of her mother’s voice echoed in her head, fighting back against her self-defeat. _No, it’s not. Endure._

The pain started to ease, not completely leaving, but at least allowing her to breath more freely. She sighed deeply, “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.” The voice was deeper than her mother’s, though sounded just as familiar.

She didn’t dare turn around, closing her eyes again as she said, “I’m not strong enough.”

“You’re the strongest woman I know.” The voice was warm and carried a note of pride as it added, “I couldn’t ever be with any less.”

A smile pulled at either cheek. “ _Petyr_.”

His joints cracked as he crouched down beside her. “Not a word.”

She knew he was defensive whenever his body showed his age and hid her smile. Pain rippled through her again as she gasped, “You’re here.”

“You’re surprised?” His smile faded, as he looked her over, determining quickly that she was further along than she was admitting.

She breathed through the pain again, and have him half-hearted grin. “I shouldn’t be. But I am.” Petyr always seemed to know where she was, more so since Olenna. Of course he’d find a way to be with her, when she was determined to be just out of reach.

He wrapped an arm around her, and rested his palm on her hardened belly. “You’ve been preoccupied.”

She tensed in his embrace when another contraction hit. He said nothing, holding her close as she winced through it. When it passed, he kissed her hot cheek and rest his face against the side of hers. The sun was going down, and the cool night air was a welcome alternative to the waves of heat that washed over her, clenching her muscles.

Petyr’s voice remained calm as he asked, “How long have they been regular like this for?”

Sansa looked down at his hand on her belly, guilty. “A couple of hours.”

His grip on her tightened, betraying his calm exterior, his deep need to protect her showing. His tone scolded her, “That one was four minutes apart from the last.”

“I know.”

“Can you stand?” Petyr asked her, drawing his phone from his pocket.

The pain rippled through her again and she gasped, “ _No_.”

Petyr lifted a hand and suddenly they were surrounded. Arya was the first to speak, “I fucking knew this was a terrible idea.”

“Why didn’t you trust your gut then?” The surgeon asked, crouching down in front of Sansa.

Arya gave him a dirty look. Bronn wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close as he said, “Now Thoros, I’d pay attention to the company you’re in when you speak.” He nodded towards Petyr. “Guts aren’t always the most trustworthy things, always spilling about and what not.” He laughed when Jon smacked him in the arm to shut up. Arya rolled her eyes and pinched his nipple. Bronn winked at her, “ _Later_ , Punky. Your sister’s crowning over here, hardly the time.”

“I am not _crowning_!” Sansa growled then immediately yelped at the stabbing pain in her pubic bone.

“Not helping,” Petyr shot Bronn a look.

Jon tapped Bronn’s arm again and gestured for him to take a walk with him. Bronn pulled at Arya’s waist, “You coming?”

Sansa’s brow wrinkled as she looked up at Arya, silently begging her not to go, not to leave her. She had Petyr, and a doctor, there was no legitimate _need_ for Arya to be present, yet she wanted her there all the same. Arya’s eyes locked on Sansa’s, understanding instantly. “No. I’m gonna stay.”

Thoros touched her knee as he spoke, “I need to check to see how far you’ve progressed.” Sansa nodded her permission, but it wasn’t her approval he was looking for. Petyr nodded once, allowing the trained professional to touch his wife.

He didn’t mince words when he told her what he needed her to do, “Take off your underwear, and touch the soles of your feet together.” He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket as he continued to give instruction, “Scoot as close to the heels of your feet as you can, and lean back.”

Arya moved quick. The sound of chains clanging and combat boots thudding, announced her presence on the ground behind Sansa. Petyr held one shoulder and gave her an encouraging look.

Arya’s grin matched Petyr’s, reassuring her on the other side. “Doc said to take your underwear off.”

“I’m not wearing any,” Sansa admitted.

“ _Trashy,_ ” Arya laughed.

The sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. Sansa tried not to think of Thoros’ arm moving between her legs, or the foreign touch of his hand on her skin. Petyr’s grip tightened around her arm as he watched the man closely. To Thoros’ credit, he didn’t seem to appreciate the situation he found himself in, anymore then they did. He kept his head turned, looking far off into the cemetery as his fingers moved within her.

“You’re at five centimeters and ninety effaced. This is your first pregnancy--” Sansa fought the urge to interrupt him and tell him that no it wasn’t. “Those usually go much slower. But every labor runs at it’s own speed. You probably have time to get to a hospital, if you don’t dottle.” He pulled his hand from her, peeling off the gloves and putting them in a baggy. “I suggest you take that ambulance.”

Sansa looked over her shoulder, and watched an ambulance speed up the dirt road. Another contraction hit and she whimpered under it, “Who called the ambulance?”

“I did,” Petyr kissed her head. “When I saw that you were driving out of the city, I texted Jon and he told me where you were going, and that you were in a lot of pain.” He rubbed her shoulder, his thumb attempting to knead away the tension in her muscles. “You didn’t think I’d let my wife deliver our daughter, on the ground over her mother’s grave, did you?”

Arya forced a nervous chuckle, “It’s pretty fucked up when you put it that way.”

Sweat trickled down Sansa’s back as she shifted in their arms, bringing her legs back together. She looked up at Thoros, shaking her head in denial. “But, my water hasn’t broken.”

EMTs were on her in a matter of seconds, hoisting her up. She barely heard Thoros giving them report, her eyes darting around her for Petyr and Arya as they settled her on the stretcher. Voices spoke around her, “Turn her on her side. BP one-thirty over ninety-six. Pulse ninety-two. What’s your name?”

Sansa looked around, feeling disoriented by all the movement and bright overhead lights. She wasn’t sure which stranger the question came from or even of who it was directed to. She scanned her surroundings, quickly looking anyone she recognized. No Petyr. No Arya. There was a tremor in her voice as she answered no one in particular, “ _Sansa._ ”

“Hey Sansa, I’m Meera.” The voice belonged to a petite brunette with soft eyes. Her smile was kind and her hand comforting as it reached for hers. “You’re gonna be alright. You’re right where you need to be. You and baby, okay?”

Sansa glanced around her again. “Where’s my husband? My sister?”

“I need you to breathe. In through your nose, and out through your mouth. We need to relax your body as much as we can.” She gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Now, you are very healthy, and we have no reason to believe baby isn’t healthy too, okay Sansa?”

She took a breath in, glancing around herself, fighting against the pain she felt, panic rising, “Where are they?”

“Right here!” Petyr was at her side in an instant.

“We’re right here, Sans. Breathe, like in the class.” Arya was suddenly next to Petyr.

“What took you?” Sansa asked through clenched teeth as another contraction hit.

Arya’s jaw tightened as she explained, “Some people tried to say only one of us could ride with you.”

“It’s standard procedure.” Meera explained, starting at both of them, clearly trying to decide whether or not to protest both their presence in the ambulance.

“Do we look standard to you?” Arya cracked her knuckles as she spoke.

Sansa would have laughed if she wasn’t so consumed by the pain of her body’s rhythmic torture. Fingertips tickled her forehead, picking away strands of hair that had stuck there. She looked over to see Petyr’s face hovering above hers. He was completely composed, smiling down to tell her that she was going to be alright. She shook her head, no. She definitely didn’t feel alright and wouldn’t fool anyone into believing she was.

The EMT gave her hand another squeeze before she let it go and started rifling through the cupboards in the ambulance. Petyr snatched it up quickly, pulling it to his face. He rubbed the back of her hand against his cheek and goatee, intermittently kissing it. She wondered how much of it was meant to comfort her, and how much was purely for him. Pain suddenly rippled through her and she felt like her back was going to break under the pressure of it. Tears welled in her eyes and she couldn’t hold it in anymore, she started sobbing.

“Shit. Fuck. Sans.” Arya reached over, grabbing her other hand. “It’s gonna be okay, you got this.”

“No.” Sansa shook her head furiously, “No, I don’t. It’s too much.”

Her stomach tightened again, and she felt all the pressure move down to her opening. It was a weird sensation, and no amount of internal flexes made her feel as if her insides weren’t about to fall right out of her. She shook her head, “This was stupid!”

“No shit sherlock. Of course it was dumb as fuck to come out here to the middle of nowhere when you were about to pop.” Arya scolded her.

“ _Arya_!” Sansa screamed.

“Sorry!” Arya screamed back nervously. “Shit, I know I’m not supposed to say that. All I meant was, I’ve heard of pregnant women doing stupid crazy shit like hauling stoves and refrigerators out and cleaning behind them. I’ve never heard of them driving out to the middle of nowhere and perching over a grave to shit their kids.”

“Shut up, Arya,” Sansa growled.  

Drawing her attention back to him, Petyr kissed her hand and held it against his lips as he asked, “What was stupid, Sansa?”

Sansa tightened her grip on his hand, and rode through the pain, waiting for it to subside before she could answer. “This is. Having a baby. It’s a _person_ , Petyr. She’s going to come out of me. _Out. Of. Me_.”

“I know.” He kissed her again, sympathetically.

She shook her head, gasping through the pain. “No, you don’t. You don’t know.” She pulled on Arya’s grip, nodding to her to help her shift to turn over on the stretcher. “What do you know, Petyr? You know about working! That’s what you know about!” Pain tore through her again and she panted, trying to catch her breath through it. Finally, she managed to gulp down some air as she continued to berate him, “I’m ready to fucking pop, and where are you?”

Arya smirked, and started to open her mouth before Sansa squeezed her hand in an iron grip and warned through her teeth, “Don’t! _You dare_.”

“I shouldn’t have left your side.” Petyr knew better than to argue with her, especially at a time like that. He turned, raising his voice to the head of the ambulance, “I just came from the city, avoid the Ashford exits, they’re backed up.”

Was he directing traffic right now? While she was regretting ever having let him convince her that children were a good idea. She shot him a frustrated glare as she listened to the driver say, “Thanks for the heads up! I’ll relay to dispatch.”

The pressure in her hips was too much for Sansa to bear, and she felt a warm gush pour down her thighs when she shifted her leg. Her head shot up, “ _Meera_!”

The EMT was instantly above her lifting her leg to inspect. “I’m right here. It looks like your water broke.” She smiled as she grabbed some towels and started wiping up all the fluid. “Now baby has no choice but to come.”

“What does that mean?” Arya asked testily, “You mean she wasn’t in labor before her water broke?”

The EMT shook her head, “No, no. She was still going to come. But breaking waters tends to up the ante. Now she’ll come for sure within twenty-four hours. The doctor won’t let her go any longer.”

“ _Longer?_ ” Sana cried, already feeling exhausted, sweat drenching her.

Petyr kissed her hand, his eyes zeroed in on hers. “ _Not_ longer. You can do this, Sansa. You have to.”

The ambulance stopped abruptly. Meera looked up, “What’s going on up there? Talk to me.”

A voice sounded from the front. “Road’s blocked off. All the Ashford exits, and this one too. There was an accident. Big one. We’re being detoured to the hospital.”

“Accident?” Arya perked her head up, trying to see through the tiny window to the front seat. “There’s a lot of smoke, looks far off though.”

Sansa felt the ambulance turn and accelerate, and listened to Meera say, “That much smoke, and roads blocked this far out-- that’s major level damage. Turn the radio on, see what the news is saying.”

Another surge of agonizing pain quaked through her as Arya started counting, exaggeratedly breathing how she’d learned. Sansa tried to mimic the best she could, feeling too helpless and out of control to be effective. The news radio anchor announced loudly, “Three fatalities and thirteen injured. Street cameras show a black town car driving at the posted speed limit. Without any collision or observed impact, the vehicle exploded. Vehicle parts flew over a hundred feet in the air, lodging into concrete and light posts, taking out the windows of surrounding buildings. Authorities have not ruled out the possibility of terrorism, as is typically the case in car bombings.”

Sansa met Petyr’s eye, staring deep into the green irises that seemed to suspend her safely above the suffering her body sustained. She felt him kiss the back of her hand, rubbing his lips over it, as she listened to the radio in the background, “Commissioner Baratheon has agreed to allow media to release the names of the confirmed fatalities in the explosion. Brother and sister, _Loras and Margaery Tyrell_. As well as their driver, William Wythers. Reports confirm that Loras Tyrell was the husband of Renly Baratheon, who was shot this summer when he was being taken into police custody. Renly Baratheon is the late brother of Commissioner Stannis Baratheon. Police are not at this time indicating any connection between these deaths and organized crime. Commissioner Baratheon proudly reports the city to be officially free of organized crime, and has since his appointment to office.”

Though his eyes never left hers, Petyr’s lips twitched, proudly. He quietly repeated her own words back to her, the same words she spoke to Cersei, “They say burning is the most painful way to die.”

She had a million questions that all disappeared when her abdomen clenched again, reminding her to focus on the life she was presenting to the world, not the death her husband gifted her.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another gigantic thanks to DethroneJane for helping beta this chapter as well, she's been an immense help filling in while I'm on the beta hunt for part five.


	41. LifeDiamond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you making me sign a waiver or something to hold my niece?

The view overlooking the bay had never looked as magnificent to Petyr, as it had the first morning he watched the sunrise with his daughter in his arms. Elenei Baelish was born seven pounds, six ounces, with fine glossy black hair and soft blue eyes. He was completely dazzled by them the first time she cracked them open to the sound of his voice. Luwin said they would probably change color as she grew, that all babies eyes started that way. Petyr hoped they wouldn’t. Or, if they did, they’d stay blue, but take on her mother’s vibrance.

When he lifted her, she was so light, he worried he’d overcompensate in his care and she’d fly from his grip. It took a good forty minutes of holding her tiny body, heat radiating off of her, before he could finally feel a solid heft of her. Back when he read the scrap of paper that said _girl_ , he had envisioned a smaller clone of Sansa. Red hair, ivory skin, and icy-blue eyes. He knew he should have expected more of a blend of himself in there, but he was completely taken by surprise when Luwin held her up to show him. Petyr smiled and placed a soft kiss to her tiny forehead before he whispered, “I’d apologize for all the features that you got from me, but they seem to suit you.”

She did not respond, fast asleep, only her tiny lips moving as she breathed. Elenei seemed to be a quiet baby, for the time being anyway. She didn’t make a sound when she was born, just squinted her eyes at the room of people. Petyr almost missed cutting the cord, unable to stop gawking at the tiny person he adored so instantaneously. Luwin placed her on Sansa’s chest, as the nurse rubbed her clean. All the movies Petyr had ever watched, had babies screaming bloody murder the moment the cold air hit them.

Not Elenei.

His mind raced with the thousand possible things that could have gone wrong, as he stared at her. It was Arya that practically yelled at the nurse, “Is she alright? Why isn’t she crying?”

“Yes, she’s breathing, good color.” Though she wore a facial mask, Petyr could see the nurse’s cheeks lift in a smile. “She just needs her momma to speak to her.”

Petyr looked at Sansa, beet red and soaked with sweat. Her hair was thrown up in a messy half-fallen out pony tail that Arya tried to help give her as she writhed on the bed. Sansa’s mouth had been open, staring in awe of the little life that laid on top of her. Petyr squeezed her hand, silently encouraging her to say something. She glanced back at him, her eyes wide, a confused expression on her face. Anyone could see she didn’t know what to say. Who would?

Luwin stood up off his stool at the foot of the bed and pulled his mask down to say, “Babies respond to their mother’s voice because they hear it in utero.”

Sansa gasped, wet her lips and said in a shaky voice, “H-h-hey th-there…”

Elenei’s eyes moved to look up.

Tears rolled down Sansa’s cheeks, dripping off her jaw as she said, “ _My beautiful girl._ ”

Her tiny head lifted, bobbing in the air a few times before it finally dropped back down on Sansa’s chest. Luwin chuckled and sat back down. “She’s a tough one, that one. Watch out, guys, you’re in for trouble.”

The nurse lifted Elenei and took her to be weighed. She called out, “She’s scoring a nine.”

“Nine?” Petyr asked.

“Apgar,” the nurse said simply, as if everyone was well versed in this foreign language. Petyr stifled a sigh, frustrated he had no lexicon of medical jargon handy.

Arya turned quickly, tracking where the nurse was taking Elenei. She was not too proud to ask, “What does that mean?”  

“It usually takes infants a month to develop their neck muscles enough to lift their head. She’s very strong already,” Luwin spoke from his stitching. Sansa tore, unable to hold back a push when instructed to. Petyr cringed at the memory of her helpless scream, “ _I can’t stop it!_ ”

Arya was too overcome with pride to clarify that she was talking to the nurse, so Petyr elaborated on her question, “Is that what ‘Apgar’ means? What about the nine?”

Luwin’s arm drew back, pushing his protective glasses up his nose with the back of his bloody forearm. “Apgar measures the overall health of an infant, and _nine_ is perfect health. Your daughter is _perfect._ ”

Sansa finally let herself fall back against the bed, as if she’d been holding her breath the whole time, waiting to hear whether or not their baby was alright. The nurse handed Elenei to Petyr as she said, “We’d expect nothing less from a _Baelish._ ”

Petyr’s head shot up, looking the older woman over. “Excuse me?”

“I meant nothing by it, just...you and your wife--” She shook her head. “Let’s just say, my husband and I count ourselves lucky to have bought our house in your end of the city.” She reached into the pocket of her scrubs and pulled out a tiny gold necklace with a crown-shaped pendant. “She’s gorgeous Mr. Baelish. Please accept this gift.”

“ _Alyce_ ,” Luwin scolded her. “That will be enough.”

She nodded, and turned to leave. Petyr stared down at the face he’d been dreaming of for months as Luwin apologized to him, sharing that the staff had been coached ahead of time not to comment on the high profile delivery. He waved the doctor off, not minding the devotion that perfect strangers showed to his twelve minute old daughter. He was only barely aware of Sansa sniffing away more tears as the other nurse pressed her fists into her pelvis, kneading her like bread dough. The woman apologized profusely as she did, explaining the need to staunch the bleeding.

Arya had been focused on Sansa when he offered for her to hold Elenei. Never typically one for a loss of words, Arya was completely speechless. She simply nodded, as she reached forward.

“No. Not yet.” Sansa’s tired voice sounded from the bed.

Arya’s face fell.

Sansa turned to her. “You have to sign something first.”

Petyr could swear he saw her eye twitch, and the veins in her neck bulge. She scowled, “What? Seriously, what the fuck? Are you making me sign a waiver or something to hold _my niece_?”

“Petyr, give her the paperwork.” Sansa looked too tired to smile, yet she seemed to manage a faint one.

“If you weren’t so fucked up already, Sans.” Arya offered an empty threat, as Petyr pulled the tri fold papers out of the jacket he’d flung on the chair, around his hold of Elenei, and presented them to her.

Her furrowed eyes ran over the document in front of her, not understanding. “What the fuck is this?”

“You are not her godmother, but we are awarding you full custody of her, should anything happen to Petyr and me.” Sansa smiled, proudly.

Petyr held Elenei with one arm, and smiled at Arya as he handed her a pen with the other. “There will be no decision to be made, no discussion to be had. She will not go to any of your brothers. You are who we would entrust her to.”

Arya gaped back at them, a slight tremor to her hand as her fingers worked the pen to sign. When Petyr looked at the paperwork later, he was not surprised to see her signature floating off the line and running into some of the print above. Sansa gave Arya a meaningful look as she added, “She will not suffer the way we did as kids because of the life her parents lead.”

Petyr gently passed Elenei to Arya, who beamed down at her. He walked over to Sansa and reached for her hand, the loss of contact with Elenei prompting a need to touch her. His young wife often gave him reason to feel proud of her, but this day easily topped them all. She had been so critical of herself for not planning the nursery, but she was the one who was willing to think of the worst case scenario. Petyr had considered the logistics of having an infant, but had not looked that far ahead. He was sure he would have, in time, when he’d grown comfortable enough with the little breakable body that held his heart for him. He wondered if it was because he was a man that he focused so seriously on the infant stage. Sansa having housed her in her body for nine months may have already processed it, to the point that she could look to the future easier.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “She’s got your lips, _Mum_.”

Her eyes closed and she smiled as she purred back, “And your chin, _Daddy_.”

Petyr looked down at the little lips and chin he’d scarcely taken his eyes off of since Arya placed her back in his arms, and they’d moved Sansa to a recovery room on the maternity ward. The nurses kept offering to take her to the nursery, but Sansa refused to allow it. Petyr didn’t mind, because it only meant he got to hold her more while Sansa rested.

He was pleasantly surprised by how much business he could conduct one-handed from a hospital room. After he’d presented her to the whole Stark Wolf Pack, including Robb and Talisa on skype (with a promise to fly in as soon as they could), his first order of business was to put Varys onto the name: _Reed_.

He needed to understand how the name was powerful enough to allow a pill-head to work in the healthcare profession, but not powerful enough to let her keep her child. Did she want to keep her child? Petyr cooed to the baby slowly waking in his arm as he spoke on the phone with Varys, keeping his tone warm and even. Hopefully, Varys would have some information soon.

Sansa had requested that the EMT who responded to the scene in Deepwood, be brought to her room so that they might thank her for her gentle manner, and let her see Elenei. Rickon and Bran were already in the room visiting at the time.

Bran had been due in a couple of days to visit with a former love. Sansa was clear that she only wanted him in the city for a mere hour or two, and that was all. However, when word got around that Sansa was in labor, Bran booked an earlier flight. Rickon picked him up at the airport and they drove straight for the hospital. When Petyr heard a knock at the door, he was sure it was another nurse coming in to check Sansa’s blood pressure, but instead it was the youngest Stark boys come to see the youngest Baelish.

Sansa asleep when Bran approached the bed. As if she knew instinctively that someone she loved was near, she woke up and turned to face him. Petyr held his breath for a moment, knowing the tumultuous way in which the two had parted the last time they saw each other. To his surprise, Sansa held her arms open to him, and Bran leaned down, allowing himself to be embraced by her. They said nothing, just smiled. Petyr wondered if that was all they needed to reconcile, or if perhaps there was an unspoken understanding that whatever hostilities they had could be placed on hold for this momentous occasion.

Bran was holding Elenei, while Rickon perched at the edge of Sansa’s bed, giving her an extremely sympathetic look. The poor boy had never seen his older sister so incapacitated. Petyr didn’t like it either, and stood vigilant over her at the head of the bed.

When the EMT who’d introduced herself as Meera walked it, it was Rickon who exclaimed, “ _Meera!”_

A quick glance to Bran saw him sitting slack-jawed and speechless, no doubt as to his knowledge of the woman. Petyr moved quickly to take Elenei from him, fearing that his sudden paralysis might move down to the arms that were supporting his very fragile infant-niece.

“Bran.” She appeared more sturdy on her feet than Bran was in a chair, but her voice was not as certain. She glanced down at her uniform and then started to fidget with her hands. “You weren’t supposed to be in town for a couple of days.”

“Neither were you,” Bran’s eyebrows furrowed back, taking in the full sight of her.

Rickon, ever the peacemaker, finally noticed her uniform too, and said, “Wow! You’re an EMT. That’s really great, Meera. I hear there’s a lot of schooling for that sort of thing.”

Meera glanced over at Rickon and offered him a sheepish grin. “It wasn’t easy, but I was serious about it.”

Bran crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought you didn’t live in the city anymore?”

She shrugged, “A lot’s happened since we were together, Bran. Can you blame me for being cautious?”

“I can blame you for lying,” Bran gave her no inch.

Rickon cleared his throat and flicked a glance over to Sansa and Elenei. “Perhaps now is not the time. Maybe you two can grab that coffee after we visit?”

“I’d like that,” Meera nodded her head, giving a nervous smile.

Bran said nothing, but eventually nodded his approval.

It was clear to Petyr from the brief back and forth, that Meera was the same pregnant woman that Bran had been involved with years prior. She was the only woman Bran valued in his history of dating and relationships, so much so, that he advocated to see her. It made sense that he would feel so shocked and betrayed in that moment. Thankfully, Rickon had a talent for negotiating peace.

To the girl’s credit, she had worked hard to rid herself of drugs and start her life over. She was reasonably leery of linking herself to Bran again, and was not entirely honest about the time frame that she would be available to him, or the extent of her personal accomplishments. Bran was obviously wounded, but Petyr didn’t miss the look Sansa gave her. It was one of respect, however minimal. She clearly approved of the woman’s hesitation and Petyr couldn’t agree more. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a heartsick boy aching to return to the city for no other reason than to salivate at the woman’s feet. It didn’t hurt to remind her all she’d lost during her time with Bran, and he would, should the need arise.

The fact remained that she was an addict, and yet she was working in healthcare, where she might have access to all manner of medication. No employer in their right mind would hire her, unless she had connections. Bran said that her baby was taken from her due to her substance abuse. Surely if favors could be called in to get the girl in school and in the workforce-- _that_ particular workforce, they could have been called in to return the child to her. Petyr didn’t trust it, and soon enough he’d know more about her.

His next order of business was to check on Bronzy and his boys.

The original plan had been for Cersei to kill Margaery for them, however, it was not unexpected that Loras may have gotten caught in the crossfire. As the idea resonated longer with Petyr, it grew on him. Loras was such a weak link, and would be taken out in due time anyway. Why not now? Under Petyr’s controlled conditions?

It was about that time that Petyr decided to take precautions, plan for whatever may come, and slowly strip him of his value, so that when the Lannisters rolled in, there wouldn’t be much to pillage. They would have the illusion of power, and nothing more. It would leave him with just the Lannisters to deal with whenever he felt the timing was optimal. It was always easier to kill off one enemy than it was two.

“Thank you Lannisters for doing some of our dirty work,” Petyr whispered down to Elenei, adoring the secrets he could share with her. She squirmed a little at the sound of his voice, and his chest puffed in pride. She was less than twenty-four hours old, and had been asleep for the majority of it, yet she still so easily recognized the sound of her father. He smiled thinking of all the times he spoke into Sansa’s belly.

Sansa. So strong. Petyr remembered how she’d grunted, through clenched teeth, her final-- _unstoppable_ push at exactly 11:58pm. Two minutes more, and he would have lost his little bet. Not that it truly mattered. After all, the odds were not as stable with expectant mothers as they were in other things, regardless of how much effort he put into stacking them to his favor. No one could reasonably fault him for a loss, but it was endearing how devoted Sansa was to his cause, ensuring his success.

“That’s a successful marriage, my princess,” he whispered to her. “May you one day find someone who completes you like Mum does me. And should he ever upset you, Daddy will hire some great big men to break every joint in his body.” He slid his finger in her tiny grip and made the sound effect, “ _Crack_ \- _crack_ !” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then shrugged a little. “Then if I know your mother at all-- _and I do_ , she’ll have him strung up like a marionette so she can make him dance for you before he dies from the excruciating pain alone.” Elenei’s eyes slowly opened. “How about that, princess?” He cooed down to her, “Yeah? What will we say? Hmm? _Dance loser, dance_.”

He chuckled a little before he read the text from Bronzy, _Staying low-grade._

 _Good._ His boys were only hitting some of the lesser Lannister establishments. Even though Petyr had planned for and even grew to desire the Tyrell territory takeover, he knew the majority of his focus needed to be on the Lannister’s reaction to their fortunate turn of events. To avoid suspicion, Petyr knew he had to act as though he were uncomfortable with the surge in supposed power on the Lannister’s part.

When Varys’ called to tell Petyr that Kevan Lannister approached Olyvar about planting the bomb under the Tyrell’s town car, Sansa was already sleeping. He knew it would be that day, without a doubt. Neither Jaime or Cersei were particularly known for planning things well in advance. The pure fact that they had acted in the same day as they approached Olyvar for assistance, told Petyr that Tyrion was not included in the execution of their plan to kill of Margaery. Then again, evidence that she was pregnant with their grandson could motivate them to overlook the need to consult with their right hand man.

The biggest gamble was timing.

Finally seeing the potential for all his hard work to come to fruition, Petyr was beyond ecstatic. No longer burdened by the niggling feeling that he was less than impressive to Sansa, he needed to bury his cock in her. She would know soon enough how much he deserved it, and in the meantime, he would cut down any excuse she could give him, conning his way inside if he needed. Sex was so much better when he was winning. He quickly texted Bronzy, requesting a meeting later that day.

It was about the time that he was growing achingly hard against Sansa’s sleeping form that his calendar notification vibrated his phone on the nightstand. He quickly turned it off, to avoid waking her, and pulled back the sheet to eye a nipple, darkened by her pregnancy.

 _Let me help you with that_ , he thought to himself as he lowered his head and wrapped his lips around it. His balls tightened in anticipation as he thought about claiming two victories in one day. When he pulled out of the driveway, he was confident the present he’d coated her cervix with, would ensure Elenei’s arrival before nightfall.

He and Varys met with Royce under the pretense of discussing benign matters. It was difficult keeping the old boy there while he waited for the Lannisters to detonate the bomb, extending the length of their meeting to allow for events to unfold with Royce there. Varys made a show of moving swiftly to Petyr’s side, whispering in his ear, only seconds before Bronzy’s boys rushed the conference door to inform their father of the Lannister’s move. Varys must have been watching the security cameras waiting for the three of them to arrive. Good man.

Petyr stifled a smile as he portrayed ignorance, letting them know that Varys had just then told him, in real time. He was as shocked as they were. Bronzy would be his alibi, his proof that he wasn’t behind everything. Petyr imagined him saying, _No, I was with him when he heard. I’m telling you, he had no idea._

Not to look weak to Royce, or suspiciously agreeable to Jaime, Petyr clenched his fist and banged it on the conference table. “ _Unacceptable!”_

Bronzy’s back stiffened, his face set to hatred. “My sons could send the Lannisters a message for you.”

Petyr ran a hand through his hair, sighing loudly. “Fuck!” It was hard to appear so conflicted when he’d been so decided for so long. When he turned away from the table, pacing as most troubled men were known to do, he caught Varys out of the corner of his eye.

His right hand man was on the phone, shifting uncomfortably on his feet as he spoke. Petyr listened to him tell Sansa where her hospital bag was, and hid another smirk before he gave an exaggerated groan, “No! Don’t do that.”

“What?” Royce’s eyes bulged, “But, Baelish--the Lannisters are trying to _take over_ the city!”

Petyr raised a hand to silence him, and inhaled deeply, pretending to regain his composure. “We will put up enough resistance to show we’re not willing to take it up the ass. But no more, not yet.”

“Just why in the hell not?” Royce looked outraged, which only reminded Petyr to appear similarly.

He grit his teeth as he said, “Because, I want to know their plans. They had to know it would provoke a reaction. They’re not stupid enough to go against us. So, Bronzy, do you know what they are planning to do next? I, for one, would like to find out!”

Only when he’d convinced Royce of the benefit in waiting, was he able to also convince him to keep the retaliation to a low rumble. Just enough to be noticed. After Royce left, just as Petyr was questioning Varys, his gps app notified him of Sansa’s leaving the estate. Petyr called Jon as he strode out of his office, the concerned husband, the master manipulator, and now, the proud father-to-be.

Elenei’s lips parted as she let out a little squawk, a tentative test before she unleashed a true cry of hunger. Petyr let his free hand slide to his pocket, feeling for his final piece of business. Varys had come earlier as Sansa slept to deliver the package to Petyr, and lay eyes on Elenei for the first time. He hadn’t brought Olyvar with him, playing things safe, keeping their relationship quiet until such time as they could be together without creating suspicion. Petyr quickly pocketed the commission before Sansa saw it prematurely, and had let his hands drift to it off and on ever since, nervous he might misplace it. He had paid a lot of money and jumped through some hoops to pull it together, but the gifts’ perfection was irrefutable.

The infant cry emitted, lacked a proper escalation, starting simply as high as eleven. Petyr swayed with her in his arm, hoping the motion would calm her. It didn’t. When he looked up at Sansa, she was wide awake and holding her arms out. He didn’t hesitate to hand her over, watching as Sansa pulled the front of her gown open. She brought her to her breast, her voice soft as she gently chided her, “Alright, alright. We get it, you’re hungry. Calm down, sweetheart. Mumma won’t let you starve.”

There was nothing else in the world as gratifying to Petyr as watching his beautiful wife nurture his perfect child. His heart felt ready to burst, his hand clutching the small box in his pocket.

“Ow!” Sansa inhaled sharply through clenched teeth.

Elenei let go, crying. Sansa shook her head, cursing. “Damn it!” She looked down at her nipple and groaned, “Ugh! It’s blistered.”

Petyr frowned sympathetically, as she tried to tease Elenei’s lips with her other breast. Once she was able to latch, Sansa whimpered, tears welling in her eyes as she tried to temper her reaction to the pain. Nobody warned them that some women grew so sensitive in their nipples that, by the look of it, breastfeeding was a form a legitimate torture. This did not appear to be the bonding experience Varys boasted about, or any of the posters and brochures in Luwin’s office.

Petyr reached for one of the formula bottles and cracked the seal on it before he screwed a rubber nipple on it. Sansa shook her head, jaw clenched against the pain.

“No one will think less of you if we bottle-feed,” he appealed to her.

She laughed cynically, “Of course they will.”

“Do we really care?” Petyr pushed the bottle into her field of view. “I think Elenei would prefer her mother smile as she holds her, not _grimace_.”

She was whispering, though, it might as well have been yelling, “I am not _grimacing_!”

Petyr said nothing in response, just perched on the side of her bed and wrapped an arm around her. He kissed her temple and held the bottle out to her again. This time she took it from him, and sucked air in through her teeth as she broke their baby’s suction seal. Elenei uttered a solitary cry before Sansa brought the bottle to her mouth and she started sucking on it fiercely, not seeming to know or care if there was a difference between the breast milk or formula. As Sansa covered her breast again, she grumbled, “It’s only because the lactation consultant should be here soon enough. Maybe it’ll be better after I see her.”

“Either way,” Petyr reiterated.

Sansa turned and kissed his cheek. She brought her free hand up to pet his goatee, as she whispered, “ _Thank you_.”

He smiled in her grip and reached again for the small box in his pocket, “Sansa, I--”

“ _Knock-knock_!” Knuckles wrapped on the doorframe.

A cheery blonde wearing fitted scrubs covered in little pink breast cancer awareness ribbons, barged in. Petyr pulled his hand from his pocket and smiled at her, however annoyed he was at being interrupted. The hospital staff opened the door fully, “Looks like you have some more visitors!”

Jon walked in behind her, holding hands with Ygritte. Both of them had small smiles that he could tell was private. Petyr nodded his welcome to them. Jon had already been to see Elenei a few times, even speaking with Petyr as he held Elenei and strolled through the maternity ward while Sansa slept. He had not yet shown her to Ygritte, and had asked Petyr earlier if he could bring her by.

Sansa’s face brightened at her cousin’s return. Petyr was staring at Sansa’s smile when he heard the blonde say, “The Lannisters send their regards.”

Petyr whipped his head around, and yelled for Jon as her hand came up. It wasn’t a gun, but instead a phone--a shiny gold plated one. The click of the camera in it, echoed in the room before Jon reached her, tackling her to the ground. Ygritte, instinctively shut the door behind them to avoid alerting hospital staff to Jon’s assault. He had the woman pinned to the ground, a knife held against her ribs.

Petyr stood up and walked to the foot of the bed. “The way he has you, he could stab right under your ribcage and you’d bleed out. I suggest you explain yourself.”

Sansa held Elenei tightly to her, a mother protecting her young. Ygritte leaned against the door, as she looked on. The blonde refused to respond, Jon’s other elbow pressing her face into the floor. Petyr pried the phone out of her hand, flipping it over in his hand. It was a gold colored case with a roaring lion head engraved on the back, and the word: _Leo_ , under it. He was surprised to find it required no pass code, and he could scroll around to search its contents. The phone was completely blank but for the picture of Sansa holding Elenei that the blonde had taken, and a single number in the phonebook Petyr didn’t recognize.

“That’s Cersei’s phone,” Sansa identified it easily from across the room.

Petyr questioned the woman a bit more, only to listen to her heavy breathing against the tile floor as response. Finally, Petyr instructed Jon to, “finish her.”

Jon did not hesitate to cover her mouth with his arm and push the blade deep under her ribcage, and move it side-to-side to widen the wound. When she stopped twitching, Jon slowly rose from the ground and took his coat off to look at his tricep. She had bitten his arm as she died from his blade.

Ygritte gasped, horrified by what she’d witnessed, and screamed a dull cry. She whipped around, pulling the door to escape. Poor girl didn’t realize what she was getting herself into, dating someone _in the life._ Jon was on her in an instant, wrapping her up in his arms, unable to explain his actions, with his hands full of her.

“Did you have to, Petyr?” Sansa asked, gently pulling the bottle from Elenei’s mouth.

Petyr took his eyes off Ygritte shaking her head and silently sobbing as Jon shut his eyes and drove his forehead in her cheek. Sansa brought Elenei to her shoulder, intermittently rubbing and patting her tiny back.

“It’s a show of weakness to allow the Lannisters access to us during this time unpunished.” He was of course, referring to the standard week--minimum, of separation. Or, however long it took for their two families to meet and declare a peace treaty.

“I know, but look at the poor girl,” Sansa gestured towards Ygritte, still visibly shaken in Jon’s arms. It was clear he was too nervous to attempt to release her yet. Sansa kept patting Elenei’s back as she said, “And now, we have to deal with a body. _Now,_ of all times.”

“Sansa--” He was cut off by a loud vibration in his hand. Cersei’s phone was ringing. Petyr reluctantly slid the phone icon over to accept the call, holding it up to his ear to listen.

“ _Boom_.”

Petyr froze, every muscle in his body tightening, his heart thumping. The voice was female and instantly recognizable as Cersei’s. His eyes darted around the room, muscles braced for impact. If the Lannisters were able to extend their reach that far, there was nothing that said that they couldn’t follow through with an actual bombing. He knew it would be too late for his little family.

After a half a second of silence, Cersei broke out into a cackle, “Oh Little Dove, I couldn’t resist. Sorry!” More laughter echoed through the phone. “No, I’m not. I don’t know why I lie and say I am. It’s compulsive, really.”  

Petyr took large strides across the room, his legs wobbly and the grip on his phone shaky. It was hard to work through an anxiety attack, but he knew he must. Cersei thought she was talking to Sansa, he needed to keep up the pretense. He mouthed, “Cersei,” and held the phone to Sansa’s shoulder, leaning in to listen. Cersei was still talking, amusement rich in her voice. “But, I digress. Of course there isn’t a bomb in the phone! You know I’m just playing. It would be tacky to use explosives twice in the same twenty-four hour period. It’s like a rule or something. You know like white after memorial day or whatever.”

 _Labor Day,_ Petyr couldn’t stop himself from mentally correcting her and cursing the panic attack her sense of humor caused.

Cersei kept carrying on, “Honestly, I don’t pay attention to that shit, unless I feel oppositional, which I know--I know. I’m supposed to be working on that with my therapist, but you know what? Whose ‘treatment’ goal is that really? Not mine.”

A loud burp sounded and Petyr glanced at the receiver. Sansa smiled and pointed at the infant on her shoulder. He smirked at Elenei’s audible gas and motioned for Sansa to respond to Cersei.

She sighed, readjusting Elenei, and then said, “Congratulations on your new acquisition.”

“Aww, you’re mad,” Cersei patronized. “I’ll be honest, I was really only focused on Margaery, but ever since Loras practically sold the farm, she never let him out of her sight. There was no getting one without the other.”

Sansa purposefully acted offended, knowing the importance of continuing the rouse. “Oh, I’m sure you could have figured something out if you wanted to.”

“Probably, but it’s not just me to think about,” she paused. Knowing Cersei, it was probably to take a drink. “It was Jaime’s idea to set it off by Cider Hall, so don’t blame me for that one. Gastropubs are pretentious anyway.”

Petyr listened to Sansa’s voice harden, “Was Joffrey upset?”

He could hear the grin in Cersei’s, “For a minute, then I showed him the pic of her at the gyno.”

“Yeah?” Sansa asked, waiting for more.

Cersei laughed, “Guess what he said?”

“That he was pissed about losing the baby?” Sansa guessed, knowing that there was, in fact, no baby. Surely the potential loss of a child, would be upsetting to him, no matter how untrue it may have been.

“Hardly.” Cersei changed her voice to mock her son’s, “ _I told her I didn’t want kids._ ”

“How fortunate for you,” Sansa answered, rubbing the bottle against Elenei’s lips again, teasing her to see if she was still hungry.

“That little shit better give me grandchildren before I die!” Cersei’s voice softened, “I won’t apologize for the picture--I wanted to see her, Little Dove. She’s beautiful and you look so happy.”

Petyr felt Sansa sigh against his cheek as she answered, “How could I not be?”

“I remember that feeling fondly,” Cersei’s voice brightened. “I am confident that when you are back on your feet, we’ll find a way to co-exist.”

“We’ll call a meeting,” Sansa followed her train of thought.

“Definitely. Rest now, you will need it.”

Petyr held his breath, detecting a trace of threat in her words, which was lessened when she added, “They’re up every two hours at first--destroys your REM.”

“You’re not upset over the messenger?” Sansa broached the subject of the dead woman on the ground that had clearly been trusted enough to carry Cersei Lannister’s _wiped_ phone.

Cersei gave a soft chuckle, “Of course not. I would have expected nothing less.”

Sansa smiled, not replying. Before the silence could grow too large, Cersei ended the conversation, “We will meet when you are ready. Peace is important to us.”

“Agreed,” Sansa answered.

When it was clear that Cersei had disconnected, Petyr’s head turned to watch Ygritte push Jon away. Her hands flew up to tell him that she essentially got in over her head and she didn’t think she could be with a ‘murderer.’ She turned quickly and stormed out, Jon trailing behind her. Sansa glanced up at Petyr, “I hope they work it out. I was starting to like her.” She paused rubbing Elenei’s back and added, “She was supporting him when he took her down, it was just when he finished her off, that Ygritte seemed to take issue.”

“Perhaps she just needs time to adjust,” Petyr smiled and glanced in her bathroom to see if it was just a shower stall or if it also had a tub in it. The hospital suite bathroom still just had a stand-up, but had a high enough lip on the side to make it work. He texted Bronn quickly for clean up, specifying _erosion_. There was no way Petyr would allow multiple duffle bags be seen taken out of Sansa’s room when he could simply set the woman to dissolve in the shower and keep the bathroom door closed.

“ _Petyr_ ,” Sansa whispered, smiling down at a sleeping Elenei in her arms. “Look at her arms and legs twitch. I think she’s having a dream.”

He grinned, “I wonder what she would be dreaming about?”

“Probably a big bottle of milk, or a boob,” Sansa joked.

Unable to hold back any longer, Petyr reached in his pocket and pulled the jewelry box out. “I got my girls a present-- _each_.”

“Present?” Sansa questioned, setting Elenie in the little hospital cradle before reaching for the box. Inside were two matching necklaces with a large blue gemstone pendant on each. “Sapphires for September?”

Petyr shook his head, pulling the necklace that had an ‘M’ by the hook out, and gesturing for her to lift her hair so he could fasten it for her.

Sansa furrowed her eyebrows, “They are blue. Aren’t sapphires blue?”

“Yes,” Petyr agreed. “But, these are _LifeDiamonds_. They are pressed from the ashes of a person who’s passed away. They can be any color of the rainbow, and still be one-hundred-percent diamond. I chose the color blue, in honor of September: the month both my girls were born, as well as the same month the Tyrell family lost its territory.”

Sansa’s hand raised to finger the one resting on her chest, “How?”

Petyr grinned excitedly, anxious to explain. “I had Stannis collect the ashes from the wreckage, and sent directly to the jeweler. Varys ensured that the jeweler’s work was speedy.” He reached forward, lifting the diamond off her chest as he said, “You have Margaery, as a reminder that no woman will _ever_ come between us.”

Sansa leaned forward and kissed him. When she pulled away, he licked his lips and felt the dimples flare in his cheeks before he reached into the box and pulled out an identical necklace with the letter ‘L’ stamped on it. “I had this one made for Elenei from Loras’ ashes. It felt right to give her the remnants of the former head to the Tyrell family. Gifting a rival family legacy to the heir of ours.”

“Oh, Petyr.” Sansa’s hand came up to cup his cheek. “They’re perfect.”

“I couldn’t bury them beneath our feet like we did the Hound, but hopefully, this makes up for it.” Petyr smiled, a twinge of question creeping into his statement.

“You took trophies for us. What could be better?” Sansa rubbed the diamond pendant between her thumb and index finger. She turned quickly, and kissed his cheek. “What woman doesn’t like to be showered with expensive gifts?”

“I do provide for _my girls_ ,” Petyr grinned proudly, emphasizing the last part.

“Whoa, Johnny-boy’s work?” Bronn’s voice interrupted them, letting them know he was present. He looked down at the body, and nudged it with his boot as he added, “I wonder what he has against breast cancer awareness…”

Sansa sighed and looked back at Petyr. He returned her gaze, not responding to Bronn’s running commentary as he dragged the woman into the bathroom, not even when he heard him grumble, “...should clean up after himself...it’s only proper…”

Petyr closed his eyes, and turned his head to kiss her palm. He’d only ever felt whole with Sansa, and now with Elenei, he felt so much more. 


End file.
